


Beautiful Disaster

by Thea_Luthor



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-06-08 09:50:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 48,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15240771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thea_Luthor/pseuds/Thea_Luthor
Summary: This is a completely AU story set after Hogwarts.  It features a different version of our heroes.  The war still rages, but Slytherin Hermione Granger might just have found a way to end it.  With the help of Ron Weasley, super Auror, she just might be able to get Harry Potter out of the mental hospital and on to the battlefield where he belongs.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: This is such an indulgence and totally AU! This story was inspired by Seduce a Stranger. I have to admit, I just fell in love with Evil!Ron. PLEASE NOTE: it is NOT the same story, nor does it use the characters in the same way. 
> 
> This was supposed to be a Harry/Ginny fic, but Ron and Mione just hijacked it. Anyhow, I swear that everything will make sense as more chapters come out. Again, this story is AU, so obviously, it won’t be following cannon. Please enjoy my descent into madness and obsession!
> 
> Disclaimer: don’t own a thing.

I was born into the wrong world. For eleven years, I felt displaced, and try as I might, I never managed to fit in. My parents just assumed I was an awkward child.

Then something great and terrible happened. I was accepted to a very different type of school. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I went and was sorted into Slytherin House. This was very odd, since people like me (Muggle-born is what your friends said, mudblood is how your enemies termed it) normally did not end up in that house. But I, apparently, was special.

I loved school and I excelled, not because I felt I had something to prove, or because I wanted to make my parents proud. No, I did well because I wanted to, for me, and it seemed to come so easily.

Eventually, however, I realized something. My house was evidently the “bad” house. It was the villain’s house. This was not terribly surprising based on the observed behavior and personalities of my housemates.

After graduation, most of us were recruited into the “Dark Army.” Not having any real loyalties, I merely went along with the crowd. My talents and close friendship with the son of one of the most important henchmen brought on the particular interest of our leader, Voldemort.

For some reason I have never been able to understand, I existed in a special state of grace. Despite my Muggle heritage, which Voldemort was said to abhor, I was doted upon. Unlike my peers, when I failed to prove my worthiness in fieldwork, instead of being tortured and killed, I was moved to a research and development position that was “better suited to my abilities and temperament.”

No one had ever known Voldemort to be anything but ruthless and cruel, except with me. This made me extremely nervous, as feelings are fickle.

So I stayed quiet, put on a show, and did my work, all the while waiting for a solution to my problem to present itself.

And before long, it did.


	2. Caught

“So I hear you and Lavender broke up  _ again _ ,” Ginny Weasley’s head regarded her brother from a cloud of smoke.

“Not just ‘again,’” Ron replied, leaning back in his chair, “it’s ‘for good’ this time.”

“Sure, that’s what you said last time.”

“Well, it’s serious this time,” he ran his fingers along the detailing on the edge of his desk.

“What makes you so confident this time?”

“The fact that I was actually the one who broke up with her, for a change.”

“Do my ears deceive me?” she joked, “Did  _ you _ honestly bin  _ her _ ?”

“Absolutely.”

“So what was the straw that broke the camel’s back?”

“It’s too long to go into now…”

Just then, Terry Boot came crashing through the door to Ron’s office.  Both Ron and Ginny’s head looked at him in shock.

“All right there, Boot?” Ron asked.  Ginny just continued to gape.

“Uh, Ron, we have a bit of a situation here.  Would you come with me, please?”

“Sure,” he replied, still surprised.  He then turned to Ginny, “Sorry, Gin…”

“Oh, don’t worry.  I get it. Duty calls.  I’ll talk to you later. Later, Terry.”

“Bye, Ginny,” the younger man replied as the puff of smoke dissipated.

“So, what’s the matter?” Ron asked as they walked into the hall.  He carefully closed the door to his office behind him. He was still a little in awe of the fact that he had his own office, with “R.B. Weasley, Auror Special Forces, Red Division” painted on the door.

“Ok, so we made a rather interesting discovery on the raid this morning.”

“Have you notified the translation department?”  The Aurors under Ron had been on the hunt for a translation key to unlock text written in graffiti on the side of a building.

“It wasn’t that kind of discovery.”  Terry stopped walking. Ron missed the beat and had to backtrack to stand face to face with him.

“Well, then what kind of discovery was it?” Ron asked, losing patience.   _ Why couldn’t the newbies just say what they had to say and get it over with? _

“It was a person.”

“Alive or dead?”

“Oh, she’s very much alive.”   _ She, huh?  That was interesting _ .

“Who?”

Terry gulped.  “Hermione Granger.”  Ron took a step back from him in shock.

_ Hermione Granger. _  Ron hadn’t seen her since school, but he had heard plenty.   _ So Moldy-warts had actually let his precious muggle-born out of his sight, had he?  That was  _ **_very_ ** _ interesting. _

And dangerous, too.

“How many people did we lose in the raid this morning?”

“Loose?” Terry looked confused.

And Ron wanted to scream.  “How many people were killed or injured taking her in?” he asked tersely.

“Oh.  None.”  Now Ron was really shocked.

“What do you mean, none?”

“Just what I said.”

“Is she conscious?”

“Oh, yeah, she’s fine.”

“Why wasn’t I told about this earlier?”

“She just got through processing.”

“So how was she apprehended?”

“She was just sitting there, apparently.”

“She was just sitting there?”

“Yeah, as soon as she saw us, she put her hands up to her head.  Weirdest thing I ever heard.”

“She wanted you to see she wasn’t armed.”   _ Terry was right, though.  This was really weird. _

Ron hadn’t been friends with Hermione Granger in school. Far from it.  She ran with one crowd, and to be honest, they were usually running away from law enforcement.  After graduation, she had been recruited, like most of the other members of her house, into the “Dark Army.”  The Deatheaters’ level of destruction had increased significantly that summer, and had never stopped its upward trend.  He knew she had something to do with it.

Hermione had been the most talented witch most of the professors, and definitely all of the students, at Hogwarts had ever seen.  Most people were basically frightened of her. No one ever really talked to her, except Draco Malfoy, the Slytherin ring leader. She wasn’t quite one of his underlings; she was more like a silent partner.  He had even heard that the Malfoys had basically adopted her. Ron never knew what happened to her real parents.

And while he knew that Hermione Granger was engaged in Deatheater activities, they had never been able to get any evidence that she had ever been at any of the crime scenes,  _ ever _ .  It defied logic.  But while they couldn’t pin anything on her, that didn’t mean that she wasn’t capable to lethal force.

He had seen her throw curses and hexes.  He understood how powerful she was. Unfortunately, there was no reason why she couldn’t have decimated his entire squad if she had wanted to.  Which must mean that she hadn’t wanted to. She wanted to get caught.  _ This just got curiouser and curiouser. _

“Where is she now?” Ron asked Terry.

“In the interrogation room,” he replied, “with Neville.”

“Who else?”

“No one.”   _ Oh Merlin, couldn’t these kids get anything right? _  Ron picked up the pace as he made his way down the long corridor in the bowels of the ministry to the first interrogation room.  He could hear her voice before he entered the room, all dark and sultry.

“You know, Neville, I remember you from school, but I don’t remember you being this handsome.”  Ron realized he had better get in there and rectify the situation. He turned the knob and shoved at the door without knocking.

“Yeah, marriage has grown on him” Ron answered, more for his colleague’s sake than the girl’s.  He stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest and looked down his nose at her.

_ ‘Bout time _ .  The thought came from her.   _ Hmm… _

“Weasley,” Neville replied and swallowed, a terrified look on his face.  He was in way over his head, and he knew it.  _ Thank God for Ron _ .  “I was just questioning our prisoner, Ms…”

“Granger, yeah, I know,” he interrupted.   _ Yeah, we  _ **_all_ ** _ know. _  “I’ll take it from here, Neville, thanks.”

“No problem,” Neville looked relieved and headed for the door.

“Boot, I expect those reports on my desk in two hours,” Ron said to Terry, who was still hovering in the hall by the door.

“What..?” but his question was cut off as Neville closed the door between them and fled down the hallway, hopefully dragging Boot with him the whole way.

Ron remained standing for a moment, attempting to intimidate her with his height and size.  She stared back at him, a bored look on her face. Well, he didn’t really think that was going to work, anyway.

He took the seat Neville had just vacated and flipped open the case file.  Nothing written down.  _ What the heck had they been doing in here? _

She remained silent; legs crossed, arms crossed over her chest, foot tapping against the table leg.  He began reading her.

“Now, now, Mr. Weasley.  If you want information from me, you’re going to have to verbalize it.”

_ Crap.  So she knew. _  She sat there, looking bored, but very different from the girl he had remembered from Hogwarts.  They had been Head Boy and Head Girl together, but hadn’t ever really talked. She was always very silent, and there weren’t many times when you could find her and not find Draco Malfoy far behind.  He had always chalked it up to her being shy. She put off that vibe very strongly.

She was anything but shy now.  Her dark, once-frizzy hair had been tamed, and was pulled up into a high ponytail.  Expensive black sunglasses sat at the crown of her head. She wore a fitted black button-down blouse that didn’t have enough buttons done up for his taste, and a little of her cleavage was showing.  Below the table, he could tell, she had on tight black pants and black boots. The only thing that wasn’t black, other than her hair and her eyes, was a thin silver chain around her neck.

“How did you know?” he asked, cautiously curious.

“How did I know what?” she replied, finally looking interested.

“How did you know about my abilities?”

“Oh, you don’t really think I would be in this position without first fully researching you and your team, do you?”

“Why are you in this position?”

“Direct,” she smiled at him, “I like that.”

“Look,” he responded harshly, “I’m a very busy man, and don’t exactly enjoy it when stupid little girls decide to try to flirt with me to get out of trouble.  Is there a reason why you are here, or are you just wasting my time?” He noticed that her eyes had narrowed and she was clenching her jaw.  _ Well, he certainly had her attention now. _

“I take my life being in danger a little more seriously than that.  Do I look like I need to go through all this trouble for a shag?”

_ A shag! _ He snorted.   _ That’s lofty. _

“Why do you think your life is in danger?”  She hesitated a bit at that.

“It’s kind of a long story,” she said, and then added sarcastically, “are you sure you time for it?”

“I do if you make it worth my while.”

“Have you any cigarettes?”  He conjured some without thinking, wanting to keep her happy and talking.  After he lit one for her, her wand and lighter having been removed, she sat back and visibly relaxed.

“What do you know about Voldemort?” she asked, out of the blue.

“Serpentine, megalomaniacal tendencies, psychopathic, root of all evil,” he sighed, “was there something specific you wanted to know, or should I just go on and on?”

“How, specifically, does he feel about Muggles and Muggle-borns?” 

“He hates them.”

“Very good.  Now, how much do you know about me?”

“Muggle-born Slytherin.  Top of your class at Hogwarts.  Questionable location since graduation…”

“Go back to the first one.”

“Muggle-born Slytherin.”

“Yeah,” she took another drag on the cigarette.  “Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

“Yes, but stranger things have happened.”

“True.  What do you know about me and Voldemort?” 

“What about you and Voldemort?”

“Our relationship.”   _ Oh God, if she was going to sit there and tell him they were lovers, Ron was going to vomit. _  He had seen Voldemort before, and to imagine that slippery monster touching…

_ EWWW!!!!! _

“I don’t know anything about your relationship.”  She crushed out her cigarette on the table and sat back, rubbing her arms as though she were cold.

“You remember when he came back, don’t you?”

“End of fourth year; how could I forget?”

“What you obviously don’t know if that he began paying me particular attention almost immediately upon his resurrection.”

“Ok.”

“I’ve yet to be able to figure out why, and that has always bothered me.  I’m an anomaly. I shouldn’t exist. But there it is. After school was over, and I was recruited, I was sent on a mission which I failed miserably.  Everyone tried to talk me into lying about it, but I wouldn’t. When we got back to his lair, I told him immediately what had happened. I thought he would kill me.  Instead he had me reassigned. Doesn’t  _ that _ strike you as odd?”

Actually, it did.  Voldemort wasn’t exactly known for his mercy.

“You must have been relieved,” he said when she seemed unwilling to continue without his interaction.

“No.  I was terrified.  What was his deal?  Why was he so interested in me?  Why was he ‘forgiving’ me?”

“Did you ever ask him?”

“Hell no!  I pretended to be grateful and just went about my business.  Well, sort of, anyway.”

“Well, none of this tells me why you suddenly think your life is in danger.”

“This isn’t sudden.  I have been looking for something and planning this for a very long time.”

“What have you been looking for?”

“A way to kill him.”  All the breath rushed out of Ron in a whoosh.   _ A way to kill Voldemort. _  They were starting to think it was impossible.

“And have you found it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, why haven’t you used it?  What do you need the Aurors for?”

“Not ‘Aurors,’ in general, Mr. Weasley, one Auror.  You.”

“Why me?”  She looked away from him for a moment.

“Tell me,” she said, finally looking back at him, “what do you know about Harry Potter?”


	3. East, West, Home bEst

“Sorry, Gin…”  Her brother said.

“Oh, don’t worry.  I get it. Duty calls.  I’ll talk to you later. Later, Terry.”

“Bye, Ginny,” was all she heard as she pulled her head out of the fireplace in the break room.  Normally, she didn’t talk to her brother through the floo, but the news her mother had dropped on her yesterday warranted confirmation.

“Well, your brother has broken up with Lavender,” was all Molly Weasley would tell her youngest child.

This was not particularly shocking news.  Ron and Lavender had been on again/off again practically since they had been “on” in the first place.  Not that Ginny was particularly upset that her brother had broken up with his “long-term” girlfriend. Ginny had never really liked the girl that her brother had been dating since their Hogwarts days.  She had always thought of her as kind of a slag.

It was one of the few things that Ron and Ginny had ever disagreed and fought over.  As the two youngest children in such a large family, and the two born after a set of twins, they had shared a very special bond since nearly birth.  They were each other’s best friend and closest confidante. They backed each other up when the older ones picked on them, and lied to cover up for each other with their parents.

It was only when Ron had begun freaking out over his sister’s disastrous love life that they had decided that they would never again butt their noses into the other’s romances.  Any personal feelings about either siblings’ significant other was kept firmly internal. It made things much more peaceful.

But Ginny was curious as to what the “long story” entailed.  Normally, when Lavender and Ron had a bust up,  _ she _ was the one who did the ending.  Then, minutes, hours, days, one time she even made it six weeks, later, she would come crawling back, bawling about how sorry she was and how much she loved him and how she couldn’t live without him.

It was disgusting really.

The only thing that was more disgusting was that he took her back.  EVERY TIME!

Every time, but this time.

_ Hmmm…what had happened? _

“Gin, you done with the hearth?” Sylvie Broome asked as she swept in without knocking.

“Yeah, I guess so,” she answered sarcastically.  The conversation really  _ was _ over, but that didn’t mean that she liked being barged in on.  No matter, it was time to check on her favorite patient, anyway.

As she passed Sylvie on her way out the door, she swore she heard the words “red-headed bitch” being muttered.

_ Whatever _ .

Ginny grabbed her charts and moved from the hallway nexus to the doors that led to the “dementia” wing.

She knew how far by heart.  Fifteen steps down the center of the hallway.  His door was on the left. There was a small window on the door that allowed her to see in.

He was huddled in the corner today.  Not a terribly good sign, but at least he was near the window; near some sunlight.  She tapped her wand on the enchanted glass and it provided her with a readout of his vitals.  Temperature and heart rate normal. Muscles in relatively good shape, considering the fact that he never left this room, no atrophying.  Hearing was good. Eyesight, well, that left something to be desired, but you couldn’t have everything. Not that he needed 20/20 vision to stare into space.

Harry Potter.

He had been living in that padded room in a near catatonic state for 17 years.  No one knew what had happened the night Voldemort had attacked his house and killed his family.  The Potters had already been in seclusion for nearly a decade by that point. All anybody knew was that the only thing to come out of the battle in one physical piece was Harry.  Unfortunately, whatever had been done to him during that battle had left his mind irreparably broken.

Everyone said he was a lost cause.  They shook their heads at the meaninglessness of it all.  Poor kid, family killed, brain damaged, forced to live in a mental ward for the rest of his life.  The medi-wizards and witches at St. Mungo’s didn’t have any hope that he would ever recover. They just tried to make him as comfortable as possible.

Everyone except Ginny, that is.  She had been given the job of checking on him one day during her training.  They made all the interns do it, kind of like a rite of passage. But Ginny had kept doing it, whenever she got a free minute.  There was something…, she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but she knew that he was important. 

So she made sure to check on him everyday, praying for some improvement: a glint in his eye that he recognized her, a word,  _ anything _ .

But there never was.

****

TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLT

****

He couldn’t believe it.  He just could not believe the turn this day had taken.  One minute, he’s filling his sister in on the latest bit of catastrophe to hit his love life, and the next, he’s sitting in a  _ car _ with Hermione Granger of all people!

And it was a nice car too.

He didn’t know anything about autos, really, but the spacious, comfortable interior told him it had to be expensive.

“What kind of car did you say this was?”

“Mercedes C-Class Sports Coupe,” she turned to smile at him, “Zero to 100k in under 10 seconds.”

“Like’em fast, do you?”

“Yeah, I like a car with a set of stones.”  He nearly choked at that. He tried to imagine any of the women he knew unabashedly throwing testicles into conversation.  Well, Ginny, maybe, but that was about it. In fact, he couldn’t really picture the girl he knew as Hermione Granger doing it, either.

“You’ve changed a lot since school.”

“I had to,” she answered.  A trifle bitterly? He let the subject drop.

“So are you going to tell me how to get to your flat, or are we just going to drive around aimlessly all day?” she asked, again, with a smile.

“Make a left ahead,” he replied.  After their little conversation at the Ministry, it was decided that Ron would take personal custody of their very interesting guest.  If her life was really in danger, he couldn’t throw her in the temporary cells at HQ. He also didn’t want to go to the trouble of carting her off to Azkaban.  If that place could even hold her. He was wondering if anything in magic could make Hermione do something she didn’t want to do.

_ “Harry Potter?” he had asked, shocked. _

_ “The one and only.” _

_ “I know plenty.  My sister works at St. Mungo’s…” realization dawned on him, “which is why you came specifically here, for me.” _

_ “Very good,” she grinned at him in a slightly McGonagall-esque fashion as she leaned forward so he could light yet another cigarette.  “But that’s not the only reason I came for you,” she continued as she exhaled the smoke. She really needed to stop with the cigarettes.  He was getting a headache from lack of oxygen. _

_ “What else?” _

_ “Well, I have this feeling that I’m going to need the Gryffindor Golden Boy to perform a few of those miracles that he is so famous for.”  He scoffed at that. “But it’s all rather complicated. I’ll be able to tell you more once I actually see Harry.”  _

_ “So this is why you let Neville bring you in?” _

_ “Yes, although, I rather thought you would be leading the charge this morning.” _

_ “I was busy.  Do you have anything to do with the graffiti?” _

_ “Yes, I planted it.” _

_ “So what does it mean?” _

_ “Nothing.  It’s Runic gibberish.”   _ Christ, months of work down the toilet for nothing!

_ “You’ve been planning this for awhile, then?” he asked, trying to keep himself distracted to stifle his irritation. _

_ “I’m not one to act without planning.” _

_ “I see.” _

_ “So, if you’ll just point me in the direction of a safe house I’ll just go there and wait until you can set up a cozy little visit for us.” _

_ “Well, you’ll be staying with me.”  She gaped and the cigarette almost fell out of her mouth. _

_ “What?” _

_ “I’m not about to let you go off unescorted, your life being in danger and all.” He had her now.  She hadn’t been expecting him to be hovering over her constantly.  _ Good _.  “You don’t look at all happy at the prospect.” _

_ “I just assumed I’d be holed up in some Ministry safe house.” _

_ “I can’t think of any house safer than mine.” _

_ “Safer for whom?” _

_ “Well, what’s safer for me is safer for you.  Unless you’re lying.” _

_ “Why would I do that?  I know you’d be able to tell.” _

_ “Usually.  But people also usually can’t tell when I am trying to read them.  You did, so you may be able to lie right to my face without my knowing.” _

_ “Do you really think I’m that good?”  She was looking very pleased with herself.   _ That wouldn’t do at all.

_ “Maybe I’m just slipping in my old age.” _

So now he was sitting in the car with her, driving through the streets of Muggle London to his flat on the outskirts of town.  The rents out here were significantly cheaper than anywhere near Diagon Alley and its offshoots. And apparition had pretty much opened the door to any number of places to live.  With a commute of a fraction of a second, there were endless possibilities.

He could tell that she was still hesitant about the situation he had put her in.  To be honest, he as a bit as well. What had possessed him to keep her locked away at his house?

_ Too late to back out now, _ he thought as she turned down the road where his flat lay.

“It’s up here on the right, 317.”  She eased the car into a parking spot right at the curb and hopped out.

“It’s cute,” she said, sizing the place up as Ron led her to the door.  He lived on the second floor of a converted two family house. The building was probably about a hundred years old with a brick exterior.  He had his own entrance on the porch and the stairs led directly to his lounge and dining room. The kitchen was closed off behind the dining room and there was a sharp curve that led to a dark hall containing five doors.

The place was an absolute sty and he forced himself not to feel embarrassed.   _ She wasn’t a bloody houseguest, damnit!  She was a prisoner in his custody. _  He kept repeating that to himself over and over again.

“I take it there are no women living here,” Hermione remarked, taking in the mess.

“And what ‘women’ exactly would I be living with?  I’m sure your research told you I wasn’t married.”  _ This was a bad idea; SUCH a bad idea. _

_ How conservative _ , she thought.  “Well, you do have a mum and a sister.  Maybe Ginerva lives here with you.”

“Don’t you already know where she lives?” Prodding her was a fun game.

“I didn’t do a full work-up of every member of your enormous family, Ronald,” she answered with annoyance, “why should I care where your sister lives?”

“I am rather surprised that you left some stone unturned…”

She let that one go.  “It is a rather large flat, do you have a roommate or something?”

“No, just a gaggle of freeloaders.”  He led her to the darkened hallway and began pointing to doors.  “Loo, linen closet, my room.” He turned to look at her, “don’t go in there.”  He stared her down, so make sure she understood before continuing.

“You can stay in the guest room,” he shoved open the farthest door to a spacious bedroom furnished with a bed, nightstand, dresser, and a small desk.  She took a few steps in and looked around. It wasn’t fancy, but it was the cleanest room in the house, if a little dusty.  _ This would do quite well. _

“What’s the last door?” she asked him over her shoulder as she threw her bag onto the bed. 

“Oh!  Come on.”  She followed as he walked to the door between their bedrooms.  When he opened it, sunlight fluttered out. “It leads to the roof.  There’s a small garden up there, and that’s where we apparate to and from.”

She nodded in understanding, “so the Muggles can’t see you.”  He smiled down at her.

“There’s a table and chairs up there if you want to sit outside.  I don’t really use the yard. The family downstairs took over most of that.  Oh, and no smoking in the house. If you  _ must _ have your cancer sticks, just go on up to the roof.  So,” he said walking back to the kitchen, “what do you need to get started?”

“Well, there’s not much I can do until I see Harry and find out what kind of shape he’s in.  I brought some of my books with me to do some preliminary research. I’ll just pop over to the library in Diagon…”

“No.  You won’t be going anywhere.”

She didn’t like that one bit.

“So I’m trapped here?”

“For your safety.”  She  _ really _ didn’t like  _ that _ .

“How am I supposed to get any work done if I can’t get my hands on the resources?”  He held up a finger to stop her tirade and walked into the lounge. As she followed, he made his way to the bookcase and removed the largest book.  Turning to face her, he held the book in front of his chest.

“This volume is enchanted to become any book you need.  All you need to do is tap it with your wand and say ‘contengo’ and the name of the book you want.  It will then have all the pages inside.” She was astounded. She had never seen anything like it _.  Imagine, having an entire library right at one’s fingertips. _

“What about the books I don’t know about?” she asked.

“Well, that’s why it’s a good thing that libraries are open on Saturdays.  I don’t want you leaving this flat unless you are with me. Understand?” She nodded.

“Ron, where did you get this book from?” she couldn’t help but ask.

He had turned away from her to put the book back on its shelf.  When he heard her question, he stopped and wouldn’t look at her.

“It was Dumbledore’s.”

_ The less said about that, the better. _

He contained himself and turned to face her again.  “I need to get back to work. Is there anything else you need?”

“An owl…”

“Pig’s up on the roof whenever you need him.”

“Great, I should be all set, then.”

“Fine.  I’ll be checking up on you throughout the day.  If at any point you notice this,” he stopped and reached out to her mind with his own.  Hermione felt the corresponding gentle weight on her thoughts, “that’s just me, making sure you are where you are supposed to be and doing what you are supposed to be doing.  I leave work at 6, so I’ll be home pretty much immediately after that. Any questions?”

“No,” she answered, still a little shaken from the experience of knowing he was inside her head.

“Fine, I’ll be back in about 5 hours, then.  Don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone.”

“Trouble,” she laughed, “what kind of trouble could I get into locked up here?”

_ Famous last words _ , he thought as he apparated back to Diagon Alley.

****

TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLT

****

The first 24 hours are the hardest, or so they say. Ron couldn’t really tell. When he had arrived back at his flat after work, it appeared deceptively empty. Before he let his temper get the better of him, which was becoming more and more likely lately, he felt around for her. Sure enough, she was holed up in the room he had assigned to her, and none too happy about the intrusion either.  _ Well, she’ll just have to get over it, won’t she? _

Hermione spent most of the afternoon either pacing and smoking furiously on the roof or researching the spells she thought she would need once she saw Harry. She had gone through 3 reference books and a half a pack of cigarettes before she looked at the clock and realized it was nearly 6pm. At that point, she collected all her materials and hid in her room.

She had felt Ron check up on her mentally twice during the afternoon. Each time it took her nearly 45 minutes to calm down. The whole idea of it, the… _ intimacy _ …of it disturbed her.

Ron left her alone for the evening. He made dinner for himself, and her as an afterthought, and left a tray in front of her door. He knocked to tell her it was there, but he wasn’t about to try to coerce her to eat.  _ She wasn’t a baby for Christ’s sake. _

The silence of night did not bring much peace to the flat. As she lay in bed, Hermione tried to clear her mind of everything. It was impossible, but eventually, she was able to fall asleep. When she did, she dreamt…of the Manor…and Draco.

_ She was standing in her room, dividing clothes between her closet and a suitcase. She was also trying half of them on so all she was wearing were her knickers and a bra. She heard doors slamming down the hall, a sure sign that her housemate was home. Unfortunately, the slamming was getting louder. He was on his way to her room. _

_ Draco threw the doors open without knocking. “Where in fuck’s name have you been?!?!” he roared, pursing his lips in anger until they were as white as his hair. Goyle and Crabbe, his flunkies du jour, flanked him.  _ Did he never go anywhere without his enforcers?

_ She swung around to face him and put her hand on her hip. She stared at Crabbe and Goyle. _

_ “Out!” she commanded them. They refused to obey, so she merely crossed her arms over her chest and looked at Draco. _

_ “Get out,” he said to them without turning his head. _

_ “But Draco…” _

_ “Must I repeat myself?” He was getting awfully good at that quiet intimidation thing. _

_ When they finally turned and left, Hermione clucked her tongue at him and resumed her packing. “I’m going to need a house elf in here now to mop up the floor from Crabbe drooling all over it. I thought we talked about not allowing them in my room.” She arched her eyebrow at him, but didn’t stop what she was doing. _

_ “Sorry, but I was so pissed when I heard you were home that I immediately came up here. They always follow me around unless they’re told not too. I just forgot.” Now Draco crossed his arms over his chest. _

_ “See that it doesn’t happen again.” He ignored her. _

_ “You didn’t answer my question.” She rolled her eyes at him. _

_ “I went up to Stonehenge.” _

_ “Why?” She stopped moving and looked at him. _

_ “Am I under house arrest?” _

_ “No.” _

_ “Am I under suspicion for inappropriate behavior?” He got antsy. _

_ “No.” _

_ “Then why are you interrogating me?” The hands were back on the hips and she did NOT look pleased. _

_ “I was worried about you.” Her face softened. _

_ “I’m a big girl, Draco, you needn’t worry about me.” _

_ “It’s what I’m good at.” She sighed. “Besides, did you forget that we are at war? You not coming home means that something happened to you, something bad.” _

_ “How could I forget?” she asked sarcastically. “I need some time to be by myself.” _

_ “I know. But you could have told me.” _

_ “Well, I’m telling you now.” _

_ “No, I meant beforehand.” _

_ “I’m telling you that I’m leaving again.” He didn’t like this one bit. _

_ “What?! You just got back! Where are you going now?” _

_ “To Paris on holiday for a while. Britain has become woefully dull.” _

_ “DULL! What the hell…” _

_ “Now, now, sweetie,” she can nearer to pat him on the side of the face, “there’s no need to have an aneurysm over it. I just need to get away and recharge my batteries for a while. What good am I burnt out?” _

_ “Fine, then. I can reorganize some things and go with you.”  _ Damn, she should have expected this.

_ “I can’t very well recharge if I have to entertain you.” She moved away from him. “I’ll be back in a little while, don’t get your knickers in a twist over it.” She silently prayed that he would just let her be.  _ Come on…come on…

_ “How long will you be gone?” He resigned sadly. _

_ “At least two weeks,” she answered with her back to him, she didn’t want him to see (and question) the look of relief that was surely on her face. “But I would really not begin looking for me earlier than a month. I just finished a huge project and I am exhausted.” _

_ “So we’re getting close to the end, are we?” He smiled at her. _

_ “That’s one way of putting it,” she muttered into a dress and she pulled it over her head. “Now, we had better run, otherwise we’ll be late meeting your parents for dinner.” _

_ Grabbing his hand, she proceeded to drag him towards the door. _

Thank God he was easy to distract.

It had been the last time she had seen him. When she hugged him goodnight at the end of the evening, she lingered just two seconds too long, even though she knew it was a bad idea. He was more than a little tipsy, so he was easy to put off. She couldn’t help it though. If everything went to plan, this would be the last time she stood face to face with him without him trying to drive a knife into her heart.

In the wee hours of the morning, Hermione woke, pillow soaked, cheeks wet with tears. In the dark, her resolve betrayed her and, crying herself back to sleep, she wondered if her plan was really such a good idea after all.


	4. Stick With The Plan

Apparently, no one at 317 slept well that night.  In his paranoia, Ron woke frequently to check that Hermione was where she was supposed to be.  She was, but the sadness, doubt, and frustration that rolled off her rolled right on to him. He tossed and turned for most of the night.

As anyone who has ever shared a room with this particular Weasley knows, a sleepless Ron is a cranky Ron.  He was an absolute monster at work and made the mistake of nearly biting Ginny’s head off when she came round during lunch in response to his early morning owl.

Itching for a fight, he apparated home.  The sight that awaited him at the bottom of the roof stairs left him in utter shock. His flat…it was…spotless!  She had cleaned! Blindly, he walked room to room until he found her in the lounge, stereo blaring, singing some Muggle song he had never heard as she danced around.  Upon closer notice, he realized that the vacuum had been charmed to mimic her movements as she bopped around the room.

“S.O.S., please someone help me…it’s not…AHH!” she screamed at the top of her lungs when she turned and saw him.  She backed up a step, leaned against the sofa, and placed a hand on her heart. Angry eyes looked up at him as she took deep, cleansing breaths.

“Who would have thought someone of your size could prance around so silently,” she said, with just a little bite to it.

“Sorry.  I was a little shocked when I walked in.”

“Oh.”

“You cleaned.”

“Uh, yes.  I got bored,” she stood and walked past him towards the kitchen, “besides, you made me dinner last night.  Thank you, by the way.”

“You’re welcome.  Thanks for cleaning.”

“Oh, no bother.  I’ve got to earn my keep somehow, and my cooking skills are nonexistent.  But I can clean the hell out of anything,” she laughed as she started making tea.

“Do you want some?” she asked, half turning to look at him.

“Uh, sure.  Thanks.” It was jarring, seeing her there, in his flat, in his kitchen, fixing him tea as though they were something other than what they were: enemies.   _ They were enemies, right? _  She went about, knowing where everything was.  It was so domestic. In another minute she would ask about his day and then their kids would run in to show them some artwork they finger-painted.

“So, how was your day?” she asked.  He stared at her and had to force himself not to look around for children.   _ Had he sent her that image? _

“Uh…fine,” he stopped himself from delving further into the personal, “Ginny will be here in about a half hour to coordinate how we’re going to get into the hospital.”  She tensed, he could feel it, even from his position across the room.

_ So…this is really going to happen. _

“Do you have anything  _ you _ want to talk about?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.  It worked; she felt nailed to the wall.

“About what?” she asked casually.

“About whatever was keeping you, and  _ me _ , awake last night.”

“It was nothing,” she evaded, “just a touch of nerves.”  She placed the teacup and saucer before him on the table.  She slid her own across from him and sat down.

“Nerves?”   _ Yeah, right. _

“Yes,” she said, holding the teacup over her mouth and eyeing him over it.  “We can’t all be brave Gryffindors, now can we?”

“No, I guess not.”

“Is there anything we need to discuss before your sister gets here?”

“Not really.”

“How much did you tell her?”

“Not much, actually,” Hermione put her cup down with a small slam.

“So she doesn’t know why she’s coming here?”

“No.  I expect she thinks we’ll gossip.”  She stared at him incredulously and gave him a nasty look.

“So she doesn’t know I’m here.”

“No.”  Now Hermione looked worried.

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

****

TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLT

****

A frazzled Ginny Weasley popped onto her brother’s roof at 6:30.  It had been a hellish day and she was thankful that she was able to get away from St. Mungo’s with relatively little fuss _.  Damn full moons… _

She walked down the stairs to the flat and knocked at the door.  Normally she would have used her key, but her brother was being so  _ weird _ lately that she decided not to push his buttons.  Ron opened the door as though nothing were wrong.

“Hey, Gin.  Come on in.”   _ Did he sound nervous about something? _

“So, are you going to finally tell me what happened with you and Lavender,” she began as she entered and pulled off her coat, “or are you going to keep me in suspense…” she stopped when she saw the young woman standing in the middle of the hall in her brother’s flat.   _ She’s relatively attractive _ , Ginny thought _.  I guess he’s over his thing for blondes.  But her wardrobe is a little severe. Black on black…interesting. _

“Well, I guess that answers what happened with you and Lavender,” she remarked dryly, folding her arms over her chest.  The woman looked at Ron.

“Why don’t we go into the kitchen?” Ron suggested, “Dinner is almost ready.”

They walked into the smaller room and Ginny noticed that three places had already been set at the table.  The woman sat down at one on the far side of the table. Ginny took the seat across from her so that she could keep an eye on her over the salad.  Having removed the chicken from the cooker, Ron sat down between them.

“So, Ron,” Ginny began to break the weird silence, “are you going to introduce me to your new  _ friend _ ?”  Again the woman said nothing and simply looked at Ron.

“Actually, Ginny, you already know her.”

Now Ginny was confused.  “I do?”

“Yeah, you remember Hermione Granger, she went to Hogwarts with us.”

Ginny pushed back from the table as though something had bitten her.

“What?  What?!?!?!”  She pulled her wand out and aimed it square at Hermione’s chest.  The Slytherin bitch didn’t even flinch.

“I knew this was a bad idea, you should have told her beforehand,” Hermione looked at Ron, not at all concerned about a weapon being pointed at her.

“If I had told her, she never would have waited for me to get home to come here.  She would have shown up this afternoon, you two would have had it out, and my home would have been ruined.”

“Oh, you poor thing…” Hermione replied sarcastically.

“Shut up!” Ginny screamed.  She couldn’t believe they were having a conversation right now.  “Someone had better start talking.”

“Ginny, calm down.  Put your wand away.”

“I will not!”

“Ugh, this is getting us nowhere,  _ accio _ wand,” with that, Ginny’s wand flew into Hermione’s hands.  Now the real screaming began.

Ginny stood abruptly and the chair toppled behind her.  Ron got up fast and put his hands on his sister’s arms to calm her and prevent her from physically attacking Hermione.

“Ginny, relax!” he shook her a little bit, “I promise this will all make sense if you will just calm down and listen.”

“Listen to her, to the enemy!?”

“Yes.”  That stopped her.   _ What had happened to her brother? _

“Nothing’s happened to me, I’m fine.  We will all be fine if we just calm down and talk like normal, rational human beings.”

_ He could be under the Imperius curse. _

_ Oh, Ginny, I am not. _  She felt it then, her brother’s comforting presence in her head, the same presence she had felt thousands of times before.  The Imperius would leave a bitter taste. There was nothing but Ron in her head. She took a deep breath.

“Ok,” she said as she bent to right her chair.  She sat down. Then something really bizarre happened.  As she was seating herself in her chair, Hermione reached across the table and laid her wand next to her knife.  Hermione Granger was actually returning Ginny’s wand?  _ Were they in the Twilight Zone? _

“So talk,” she said.

“Ok, yesterday, Terry Boot and his team apprehended Hermione and brought her in to HQ.  She had allowed herself to be taken so that she could meet with me.”

“Ok,” Ginny glanced from her brother to Hermione, who hadn’t taken her eyes off her since she sat back down.

“Hermione has a plan to kill Voldemort, but she needs help to do it.  I took her home so that we could work on the plan.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Ginny put her hand to her temple.  “Why would Hermione Granger want to kill her ‘Dark Lord’?” She stared at Hermione, who finally looked at Ron.

“She believes her life is in danger,” Ron replied.

“Why?”

“Because things on their end aren’t adding up.  Honestly, Ginny, who cares? If it will give us a way to get rid of that bastard, does it really matter what her motives are?”

“Yes, Ronald, it does.”  He sighed.

“I have another question,” Ginny asked, looking hard at her brother, “why is she here?  Why isn’t she at Azkaban or a safe house or something?” Hermione huffed, rolled her eyes, and crossed her arms, as if to say,  _ ‘my, isn’t that just the question of the hour?’ _

“Because she is safest here where I can keep an eye on her.”

“Well, I can hardly believe that the Auror directors or anyone else in the Ministry was too happy about this plan.”

“Uh, they don’t exactly know about it.”

“What?  What do you mean, ‘they don’t know about it?’  How can they not know? You had a person on the Most Wanted list in custody.”

“I was on the Most Wanted list?” Hermione perked up.   _ How could she look excited at the prospect?  Stupid bint. _

“No one but Neville knows she’s here.”  Ron admitted.

“Well, where do they think she is?”

“They don’t think about it at all.  They don’t know we got her.”

“But you just said that Terry…”

“I obliviated him,” Ron interrupted, “him and everyone else on that squad.  Only Neville knows what happened.”  _ Just in case _ , he added to his sister.

Ginny sat back in shock.  “Oh, Ron…” Now she got up and began to pace.  “Oh, my God, Ron. How could you do this?”

“It’s fine.”

“It most certainly is NOT fine, Ronald!  Are you aware of how much trouble you could be in?  You could lose your job for this. You could get thrown into Azkaban for this!”  Ginny continued pacing and rubbing her head.

“You could lose your job?” Hermione asked quietly.   _ What the hell did she think, that the Ministry let their Aurors run amok and obliviate people at the drop of a hat? _

“No,” Ron assured her, “I am not going to lose my job because no one is going to find out that you are here.  And besides, once we complete the mission, it won’t be an issue.”

“And what, exactly, is ‘the mission’?” asked Ginny tersely.

“Well, that’s where you come in,” replied her treacherous brother.  That brought Ginny up short.

“Me?”

“Yeah, why the hell did you think you were here?”

“Honestly, I thought I was having dinner with my brother.”

“You are having dinner, there’s just a little more to it than that.”  He looked at Hermione.

“What?” she asked.

“Tell her.”

“Why do I have to tell her?” she threw back.

“Because it’s your plan.”

“Ugh!  Fine. Ginevra, what is Harry Potter’s health status?”  And here Ginny didn’t think she could get any more shocked.

“Harry Potter?  What does he have to do with this?”

“Quite a bit, actually.  How is he?” Ginny laughed derisively. 

“He’s a mental patient, how do you think he is?”

“I understand that his mind is broken.  What about physically?” Hermione had piqued her interest.

“He’s pretty well, considering he never gets outside or any exercise.  What’s he got to do with this whole thing?”

“He’s the one who will kill Voldemort.”

“Oh Christ, THAT’S your plan?!”  Ron yelled.

“You didn’t know?”  Ginny asked him.

“I thought she had developed some kind of weapon or something; she didn’t tell me much.”

“Oh, well that’s just lovely, isn’t it, Ron?”  His sister looked just fit to be tied over his stupidity.

“Shut it, both of you!”  Hermione yelled slamming her fists on the table.  “Now sit down so I can explain this. I didn’t have to develop a weapon, Harry IS the weapon.  Look, when he was born, a prophecy was recorded that stated that a child born at the end of July in 1980 would be a great threat to Voldemort.  Now, as it turns out, there were only two children that fit the criteria to fulfill that prophecy. One was Neville Longbottom…”

“Neville?” Ginny looked stunned.  Hermione ignored her and kept going.

“The other was Harry Potter.  The prophecy, as usual, was vague as to which boy, specifically, would be the one to fulfill it.  Therefore, Voldemort had the Death Eaters go after the two families. They were relatively successful with the Longbottoms.”

“But none of them were killed.  Frank and Ann were tortured into a catatonic state but Neville survived.”

“Yes, something about that situation, apparently, made Neville ineligible to be the one.  That left one child.”

“Harry,” supplied Ginny, starting to understand.

“Yes,” Hermione took a breath, “from what I can figure, Albus Dumbledore somehow got a hold of the information included in this prophecy.  Once Neville got nixed, as it were, he realized that Harry and his family were in greater danger. So he had the Potters go into hiding. It was apparently pretty good hiding, since it took Voldemort ten years to find them.”

“And then he attacked their safe house,” said Ron.

“Yes, he destroyed the safe house and, he believed at least, everyone inside.  Now, I don’t know why he left without making absolutely sure that Harry was dead, but that’s what he did and it’s to our advantage.”

“So what’s your plan then?” asked Ginny, who had re-seated herself and was listening intently.

“The short version is, get Harry out of the hospital so he can face and kill Voldemort.”

“Oh, is that all?” Ron asked with a laugh.

“But how is Harry supposed to do that?  He’s practically brain dead,” Ginny asked, ignoring her brother.

“Well, there’s quite a lot written about that attack from the Death Eater side.  I don’t think that Harry is catatonic because he was so emotionally scarred. I think he is in that state because he is under a curse.  The Death Eaters who wrote about attacking the Potter’s house mentioned several old curses that they had been trying out. These things hadn’t been used since the Renaissance, so they were out of practice and basically experimental.  None of the people there that night knew exactly what they would do. But I’ve been researching the spells and I think I found a counter-curse. But it requires one on one contact.” She looked at Ginny.

“Which is where I come in.”

“Yes, I need you to get us in there and make sure that we have at least an hour with him without any interruptions.  If the counter-curse works as it should, Harry should come out of his stupor. Then it’s just a matter of brushing up on his strength and magical ability, which shouldn’t take that much, and then it’s cake.”

“We are supposed to get him ready to take on Voldemort without ANY regular magical training?” Ron asked.

“I’ll work on that later.  What I need to know first is if the counter-curse will work.  We need to take this one step at a time. It’s complicated, and it will take time.”

“How much time?” Ron asked.

“Dunno.  Each step in the progression depends on how successful the step before it was.”

“Gin?” Ron looked at his sister, who was worrying her lower lip.

“What are the side effects of the counter-curse?” she asked Hermione.

“None, really, based on the state he is already in.”

“Do you really think this could work, Ginny?”  She ignored Ron and looked straight at Hermione.

“Why are you helping us?” she asked the other woman.   _ Wow, maybe Ginny should work for the Aurors. _

“I’m not.  I’m helping me,” replied Hermione, cold as ice.

“So, enemy of my enemy is it?”  The pair were engaged in a staring contest.

“Looks that way.”  Decision made, Ginny broke off and looked at Ron.  “The hospital has a skeleton crew on Sunday, and I know that only the students go in to check on him on the weekends.  That’s our best bet.”

“Can you be ready in two days?” he asked Hermione.

“Hell, I’m ready now.”

“Well, looks like Sunday it is then.”

“What are we going to do about getting you into the hospital?” Ginny asked Hermione. 

“I’ll throw a glamour.  Works like a charm.”

“Fine, so it’s a plan, then.  The food isn’t totally cold. Why don’t we try to eat something?” Ron suggested diplomatically.

As she tucked into her chicken, Ginny conversed secretly with her brother.

_ What about the Order? _

__ __ _ What about it? _

__ __ _ Does she know? _

__ __ _ If she does, she hasn’t said anything. _

__ __ _ You didn’t tell her? _

_ Of course not! _

_ Well _ , Ginny thought to herself.   _ Maybe we’ll be alright after all. _


	5. Heston

Casting a glamour was a major accomplishment, and therefore not something every witch or wizard could do.  Even knowing what little he did of Hermione, however, Ron was not shocked that this was a task she was very adept at.

He woke earlier than usual Saturday morning.  It wasn’t surprising. He was used to having the whole flat to himself on his days off.  If, for some bizarre reason, someone did stay over, they were more than likely sleeping off a drunk, so they slept later than he did, giving him the whole morning for a nice lie-in if he chose.

But unfortunately, his home was no longer his own.  Hermione seemed bent on waking at the crack of dawn.  And as soon as she did, her brain began buzzing. So much so that it woke him from a dead sleep.

By 10am, they were on the roof and getting ready to apparate to the library on Diagon Alley.  Despite himself, he was rather impressed by the glamoured Hermione. She made her appearance a bit taller with longer black hair and dark blue eyes.  Her eyes disturbed him, though; they were nearly the same color as his own. She kept her severe black wardrobe and her constant silver necklace.

The trip to the library went well, he guessed.  Hermione seemed content. She had only made him sit there for 2 hours.  He spent most of the time dozing or reading back issues of quidditch magazines.

After they stopped for lunch, at Ron’s insistence, and at the apothecary, at Hermione’s insistence, Ron assumed they would be making their way home.  He nearly tripped over her when she stopped outside some ridiculous store called “Architecture.”

“What’re we stopping here for?” he asked crossly, after an inspection of the wares through the window told him the shop sold,  _ gasp! _ , clothes.

“We need to pick you up something for tonight.”  Hermione replied without looking to be sure he followed her through the glass doors.

“What are you talking about?  Where are we going tonight?” He was starting to get nervous.  The place looked like a Slytherin alum paradise. Beautiful 20-somethings traipsed around carrying armloads of goods.  A good 90% of the clothing was black.  _ Not much for variety, were they? _  One look at the price tag of a shirt nearly gave him a heart attack. 

“I need to confirm some information.  A friend of mine owns a club and is incredibly gifted when it comes to fishing for information.  We won’t stay long, I promise. But you can’t very well go in there looking like you just fell out of the softer side of Sears,” she was already pulling things off racks and holding them up against him to see how they looked.

“What’s sears?”   _ How could she tell the difference between the shirts, they were all the same color? _

“It’s a Muggle thing, sorry,” she seemed to find one she approved of, “yes, this one will do.”  Now she was off to the pants section. Ron held the shirt in his hands as he blindly followed her.  The material did feel kind of nice.  _ Won’t I look like a fantastic poof in this? _

Hermione shopped for clothing like she did everything else, with a mission.  She had found a pair of pants, and shoes, and a stupid necklace for him in 15 minutes.  A part of Ron felt a little weird as she paid for his clothing, but he certainly wasn’t going to shell out that kind of money for an outfit he would never wear again.  She handed over the cash and then,  _ finally _ , they returned to the flat.

****

TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLT

****

The rest of the day had gone by much too quickly for Ron.  Before he knew what was happening, Hermione was throwing his new clothes at him, demanding he get dressed.  When he had the stranger’s clothes on, she paced around him in a circle, eyeing him up and down like a piece of meat.

“Must you do that?”

“Yes,” she replied, on hand on her chin as she worried her lip, thinking, “can you cast a glamour?”

“Kind of.”

“What do you mean ‘kind of?’”  She stopped walking.

“I can’t change everything like you can, only bits and pieces.”

“Well, let’s see then.”  Ron closed his eyes, and concentrated very hard.  After what felt like hours, he felt the changes. He hated doing it, altering his appearance always gave him the willies.  But there really was no way around the situation. Hermione needed whatever information it was that she was after, and she knew and understood that her going to this place alone was out of the question.  Therefore, he  _ had _ to suck it up and deal.  Without whining.

“This feels weird.”  Ok, maybe a little bit of whining.

“Too bad.  It won’t be for long, anyway.”  He opened his eyes and saw her looking at him with an expression that suggested she was proud of him.   _ Could that be possible? _  And why was he getting a sudden rush at the sight?

“How does it look?” he asked as he made his way to the mirror in the bathroom.

“Pretty good,” Hermione leaned against the doorframe and regarded his rather shocked expression, “you got rid of the red hair.  That would have been a dead giveaway. The Van Dyke is a nice touch. It’s amazing how much different men look with facial hair.  We should be fine.”

“And if we’re not?” Ron finished admiring himself.

“Do you really think anyone at that club would stand a chance against us if they started any trouble?”

His stomach did another flip, and it wasn’t because he was nervous or scared.  It had flipped at the use of the word “us.”

_ Damn _ .  He had a bad feeling about this.

****

TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLT

****

Amazingly, the club, called  _ Heston _ , was located in a bad area of Muggle London.  They had taken the car, as Ron had never been anywhere near the place previously, and Hermione had cast an illusion over it so that it looked like a pile of rubbish.

“That’s a clever trick,” Ron commented as he wrapped his arms around himself to ward off the cool night breeze.

“I thought so too,” Hermione retorted, “what’s not so clever is when you forget exactly where you parked and start waving your wand at random garbage.  Why are you doing that?”

“I’m cold.”  He didn’t understand how she wasn’t cold.  The outfit she wore barely bordered on decent.  And he was being generous with that assessment. She had on her knee boots with a black mini skirt.  That wasn’t the bad part. The bad part was her blouse.

_ If you could even call it that. _

To him it looked like two black scarves held together with a small silver clip in the center of her chest.  It was tied at her neck, came down in front to cover her, barely, and then went around again to join at her lower back.  It left most of her back exposed. To correct the problem, she had charmed an Asian motif snake tattoo. Ron hated it. The damn thing seemed to stare coldly at him as he followed Hermione into the club.

“You won’t be cold for long.  This place is practically a rainforest it’s so hot and humid.”

She chuckled to herself but abruptly stopped laughing when they reached the door.  There was a monster lurking in the shadows there.

“Flint,” she regarded her former Housemate coolly.

“My, my, my, little Hermione Granger, off for a night on the town, are we?” Marcus Flint sauntered out of the doorway and stood over Hermione.  “Rumor was, you were in Paris.”

“And I was just this afternoon.  But my whereabouts are really not your concern.”

“Where’s your little white haired poof of a boyfriend?”

“Oh, you know Draco; he makes his own fun.  Although I am sure he would be interested to know what you really thought about him.”

“Now, now, sweetie, no need to start trouble.”

“Then get out of our way.” 

“ _ Our _ way?” For the first time since they had approached the door, Flint regarded Ron.

“And who’s this then?”

“None of your business,” Hermione responded before Ron could open his mouth.

“That so?” Flint sneered at Hermione.  She sneered back.

“I can make my own fun, too.  Now move it. I don’t want to have to get rough with you, Marcus.  I guarantee you won’t like it.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”  Now he was leering at her. Ron felt his hands clench into fists, but something kept him silent.

“Whatever,” Hermione placed her hand flat on Flint’s chest on pushed him backward.  He moved away in surprise. Ron took the opportunity to follow her quickly inside.

“Done flirting already?” he muttered to her when she stopped in the foyer to survey the landscape.

“Don’t start with me.  Flint knows better than to get too fresh.  He’s just throwing his weight around since Draco’s not here.”

“How are you sure he’s not?”

“It’s not even midnight yet.  He would never come here so early,” she continued to look around, “besides, I’m sure that he took the opportunity of my being gone to shag Pansy senseless at the Manor.”

“I didn’t know they were going out.”

“They’re not.  She engaged to Theo Nott.”  Ron tried to digest this. But there was a lot to take in all at once.  Hermione was right; the inside of the club was horribly hot and humid. It was almost completely dark, however there were electric spot lights of different colors hanging from the ceiling which had been charmed to move around and create a light show.  There was a dance floor in the center full of people gyrating to the thumping that he supposed some people would refer to as music. From the movements, they looked as though the couples should be laying down on a bed somewhere.

Around the dance floor, slightly elevated, was a platform covered with tables and couches.  People lounged around, often licking or biting each other in a completely debauched way. There was also a mezzanine directly above the platform, which allowed people on the balcony to get a good view of the dance floor.  A huge, brightly colored bar lined the entire wall opposite the entrance.

“Come on, we need to get upstairs.”  Hermione started forward, but reached back to grab Ron’s hand.  He started when she touched him. 

“I don’t want you to get lost,” she said apologetically.

“I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all,” he moved directly beside her, but didn’t drop her hand.  He didn’t want to get lost either.

“Why is it so hot in here?” he basically had to scream at her over the noise.

“It makes the sprezz effects stronger.”

__ _ Oh _ .  He remembered when sprezz had hit the Wizarding world.  It had been a long time since his people had come into contact with a designer drug, and many had no idea that there would be consequences.  Sprezz was a hallucinogen, much like Muggle heroin, but amped up about 1,000 notches. Ron had heard that it had been very popular with Slytherins, mostly because its expensive price made it a status symbol.  It wasn’t house specific; many others used it. Most of them became addicted. Ron preferred old fashioned vices, like sex and alcohol, to the debilitating drug.

Hermione finally reached the stairs.  She pulled him closer as they began the climb.  “Most of my classmates are users. I would say probably 85% of the dark army in total, too.  Your side should just wait it out another year or two. Then they would be so completely brain dead, there wouldn’t be anyone to fight.”

“You’ll forgive my impatience,” Ron replied darkly.  Hermione just looked at him sadly and nodded her head.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“How often do you ‘bow down’?”

“Never,” she answered quickly.

“ _ Never _ ?”

She gave him an incredulous look before answering.  “My worth is in my brain. Why would I do anything to damage it?”

They finally reached the top of the stairs and turned to the right.  What Ron hadn’t noticed before was that the balcony was lined with doors.  Hermione stopped at the third one and knocked in a pattern. The door cracked open.

“What?”

“I need to see him.”

“Fine, come in.”

“I have a guest.”

“That’s not gonna fly.”

“Oh yes, it is.”

There was no answer for a moment as the person behind the door received instructions from someone else within the room.

“Oh, fine, enter.”  The door opened and Hermione pulled Ron inside.  He never got to see who was behind the door and he noticed that as they entered several other shadows left the room.  Hermione walked right in to the center and sat in one of the chairs before a big desk.

“Hey Blaise, how are you?”  The person behind the desk leaned forward, out of the shadows to greet her.

“Hermione,”  _ sure enough, it was him _ , “who’s your friend?”

“Oh, you remember Ron Weasley from school.”  Ron nearly threw something at her.  _ What the hell did she think she was doing telling Blaise Zabinni who he really was?! _

“Ron Weasley,” at least Ron was gratified by the slightly fearful tone to Zabinni’s answer.  He looked at Hermione, “my, aren’t we running in some  _ interesting _ circles these days.”

“I have my reasons.”

“I’m sure you do.  What do you need?”

“Where is he?”

“His lair, same as always.”

“No rumblings of movement, or questions of loyalty?”

“Of course not.”

“And Draco?”

“Busy.  Fucking Pansy, running around doing errands.  Haven’t seen him in weeks.”

“Good, just what he’s supposed to be doing.”

“Do you think she’ll have the nerve to wear white to the wedding?”

“Blaise, I really don’t have time to gossip right now.”

“Oh, too bad,” he smiled at her indulgently.  It took Ron a minute to realize that Hermione was smiling back at him.

“Maybe next time,” she said.

“Next time then,” now he was serious again, “so you’re gonna do this?”

“You bet your sweet ass I am.”

“Well, my ass aside, sounds like we’re in for a wild time.”

“Sounds like.  Ron,” she finally turned to look at him over the back of the chair, “why don’t you go get us some drinks.”

He didn’t like this, he DID NOT like this.

“Is that really such a good idea?” Ron asked.

“I need to talk to Blaise about something that doesn’t concern you.”  He was going to do it, he didn’t have a choice. Concentrating, Ron  _ read _ her, looking for something nefarious.  He watched her softly close her eyes, pull her head down, and take a deep breath.  It was so much easier this time, as though she wasn’t throwing any barriers up against him as she had before.  There was nothing hidden there, nothing dark. Then, suddenly, he  _ heard _ her.

__ _ I need to negotiate his payment and put some things in order for my cover, that’s all. _

__ _ Why can’t I be here for that? _

__ _ Because he won’t trust that I am working on my own if you are hovering.  Plus, he’ll be more open after you leave. _

__ _ Why did you tell him who I really am? _

__ _ Because I trust him, and that proved it to him. _

__ _ How long is this going to take? _

__ _ I’ll call you when I’m done. _

“Ok,” Ron grudgingly agreed out loud.  He turned and walked out the door.

****

TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLT

****

Their business concluded, Blaise and Hermione walked out on the mezzanine to observe what was happening below.  They stood silently together and looked down, as though gods observing their worshippers.

“You are playing a dangerous game here,” he said, not turning to look at her.

“It’s dangerous any way I play it; I may as well try to come out on top.”

“You are going to piss A LOT of people off.”  She smiled.

“It’s what I’m good at.  I’m sticking with my strengths.”

“What about your new friend?”  Now he turned.

“What about him?”  She, too, turned.

“How do you think this is really going to end?”

“Dunno.  Don’t care.”

“Oh come on.”

“What?”

“I know what you’re doing.  I know what you’re secretly hoping for.  I can see it in your eyes when you look at him and think that no one’s watching.”

She swallowed.  “What do you care?”

“I’m your friend, and I hate to be the one to tell you this…” he turned away again.

“Tell me what?” she was still looking at him.

“Heroes don’t fall for people like us.”  She just stared at him. He took a drink and then motioned to the crowd with his hand.  “See?”

Below them, she noticed Ron talking to some blond slag.   _ Daphne Greengrass.  Why are they always blonde? _

“Excuse me, Blaise.”

“Of course,” he answered as she walked down the stairs.

Reaching Ron in record time, she intertwined her arm with his and molded herself to his body.  “So this is where you’ve run off to…” she purred, ostensibly in Ron’s ear, but it was all for Daphne’s sake.  She turned to stare her former roommate in the eye. “Daphne.”

“Hermione,” the blonde moved her head to the side so her gorgeous, long, lemony locks fell over her shoulder, “I was just keeping your friend here company.  You really shouldn’t have left him all alone like that.”

“Well, I couldn’t take him to the loo with me, could I?” she turned her face up to look at Ron, “Care to sit down?”

“Sure,” Ron replied, in a very husky voice.  Hermione didn’t like that one bit. She pulled him away from the bar and strolled over to a couch.  Gently pushing him down, she sat beside him.

“Everything work out alright?” he asked, continually surveying the room.

“Yup, we are good to go for tomorrow,” she couldn’t help it.  She just couldn’t help herself, “you should stay away from Daphne.  Wizards don’t have cures for every social disease, you know.”

“She cornered me.”

“She’ll do that.  Oh no,” Hermione yanked her eyes away from the crowd and fumbled around inside her bag.  Finally she found her cigarettes, put one in her mouth, lit it, and began puffing away at it furiously.

“What’s the matter?”  Her agitation was intense.  He could feel it even with all the other emotions in the room.

“Nothing.”   _ How could she be in Slytherin and be such a bad liar? _  Ron registered the movement in front of them before another voice entered the picture.  The look on Hermione’s face when she lifted her eyes to meet their new guest was one of abject fear.

“Her-my-own-ninny, how wonderful to see you here,” Ron looked up to see none other than Viktor Krum standing over them.  He couldn’t focus, though. The flashes coming from Hermione were too strong. Fear, pain, rage, sorrow, frustration. Without thinking, he put his hand on her back to relax her.  The physical reminder of support seemed to help.

“What do you want, Viktor?” she hurled up at him, not removing her cigarette, not moving away from Ron, but not relaxing her body language either.

“A mutual friend told me you were here and I wanted to come over and say hello,” he continued to leer at her, “may I sit?”

“No,” she turned to look at Ron, “are you ready to go?”  He nodded.

“Oh, you cannot leave without introducing your new friend, Her-my-own,” the smug expression on Viktor’s face was knocked down a few pegs when Ron stood and reached his full height, a good few inches above the other man.

“You should know me, Krum,” Ron replied in a perfect imitation of a Bulgarian accent, “We did go to school together, after all.”  Hermione forced her mouth to stay closed so that her jaw wouldn’t give away her shock.  _ What was he doing? _

__ _ Relax _ .

“I do not remember you.   _ You _ went to Durmstrang?  What’s your name?”

“Paul Atreides.”  Hermione just stood there, watching, as the strangest thing happened.  Ron looked at Viktor very intently. The hand he still had on her back grew cold and time seemed to slow down.  She watched as the expression on Viktor’s face went from arrogant dismissal, to confusion, to acceptance.

“Of course, Atreides,” Viktor chuckled, “You played Quidditch with us.”

“Among other things,” Ron added, again with the accent.  “Well, as much as I would love to catch up with you, Miss Granger has promised me this dance.  If you’ll excuse us…”

Ron dragged Hermione onto the dance floor.  When she looked back, Viktor stared after them with a blank smile on his face.

“Will he be alright?” Hermione asked, allowing Ron to pull her into his arms on the dance floor.

“He’ll be fine.”

“That was dangerous, you know.  How did you know that he would just go along with your story?”

“Because to him, the story is true.” 

“What?” Hermione looked up into Ron’s face as he swayed her to the beat.

“Our friend Viktor Krum does remember someone at Durmstrang named Paul Atreides.  It just took him some time to remember it.”

“Well how did you know that there was someone at that school by that name?”

“I didn’t, I made it up.”

“What?!”  Now Hermione stopped swaying, but Ron’s arms refused to allow her to step away from him.

“I made him up and placed him in some of the school memories that Krum already had,” Ron finally admitted.

“Wow.”   _ That was pretty impressive. _

“I’m honored you think so.”

“You’re being rude,” she said, not enjoying the liberties he was taking,  _ reading _ her for no reason.

“You’re one to talk.  You practically spit at that Greengrass bird.”  Hermione huffed in dismissal of the incident. But Ron turned it over again and again in his mind.  It had been  _ brilliant _ !  There had nearly been a cat fight over him.   _ Him _ !  He could scarcely believe it.  An honest to God Slytherin cat fight.  That would have made the perfect end to the day!

__ _ No _ , he thought before he could stop himself,  _ this was a better one _ .

He couldn’t deny it, he liked Hermione.  He liked her smarts, he liked her sass, he liked the way she smelled.  And the clothes she was wearing…Well, that didn’t hurt either.

She had faith in him.  She trusted him. She was depending on him.  It was an intoxicating combination. Those poor sprezz bastards didn’t know what being high was.

They danced a few more songs together.  She continued to move closer to him with each passing chorus until she was right up against him.  He could feel her breath on the side of his neck.

He had to think fast.  There was NO WAY they could go directly home.  Not home, not to his warm, dark, EMPTY flat. Where his warm, large bed was waiting.  They had to go somewhere else for a while. He needed to cool off.

__ _ Oh boy.  They were in deep trouble here. _


	6. Time Wounds All Heals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhh...this is your trigger warning. The characters discuss a non-con/date rape that occurred in the past. Just so you know...

She sat across from him at the table.  The neon light from the “Open 24 Hours” sign glinted off her hair from where it hung above her head in the window.  They were seated beside the door at the all-night gyro house near his flat.

He couldn’t take her home.  Not yet. Not when he could still smell…

_ Whoa, there, buddy.  Just take it easy. _

Ron took a deep breath.

_ That’s it…easy… _

The remnants of their midnight Greek feast lay before them: olive pits, gyro wrappers, napkins.  Hermione was still picking at some of the salty dip with a bread stick. The lights were harsh, but they were just what he needed after the smoky, dark intimacy of the club.

“I am going to gain a ton living with you,” she complained, picking up the dip container to get the very last bit out.

“Why do you say that?” Ron asked over his soda glass.

“Because I am unable to smoke as much as I normally do so I end up eating more and your cooking is too good to resist.”  She smiled  _ that _ smile at him.  Did she know what she did to him when she looked at him that way?

“So?  It’s not like you can’t stand to put on some pounds,”  _ that’s it, keep it light _ .

“Yeah, right.  This has to be the first time in history a man has told a woman to gain weight.”  She pulled her left foot up to the bench and hugged her leg.

“I like my women with some meat on their bones.”

She choked and threw a breadstick at him.  They giggled as he threw one at her in retaliation.

“So how did you find this place?” she asked as she rearmed herself, or grabbed another snack, depending on the response.

“Well, occasionally those brave Gryffindors you are so fond on mentioning need someplace to sober up, and as I don’t want them eating me out of house and home, I was forced to find a place that served food that was open until the wee hours.”

“Bunch of drunks, are you?”

“No, not a bunch.  Usually just one.”

“What happens after the food sobers them up?”

“Well, then they crash at my flat until morning, when the alcohol has had a chance to work its way through their system and the food has done its job.”

She raised an eyebrow.  “This happen often?”

“Usually a couple times a month.  It’s been getting less frequent as we have been growing older.”

“And responsibility sets in…” she finished for him.

“Yeah.”

A few silent moments passed.

“The food’s good.”

“Glad you’re enjoying it.”

“It doesn’t compare to your broiled chicken, but this is faster.”

Now it was Ron’s turn to choke.  “Did you just pay me a compliment?” 

“Looks that way.”  She smiled at him again until she started to blush and looked down.

“You’re just full of surprises,” she said after a while, “The name you pulled on Viktor was an interested touch.”

“Oh?” he tried to be evasive.

“ _ Paul Atreides _ ?”

“It was the most Bulgarian sounding thing I could think of.”

“I am just shocked that you knew that name.”

“Wizard novels get a bit boring after awhile.  Muggle science fiction is so fascinating. Maybe our imaginations are a little hindered since we have so many things they don’t.”

“Maybe,” she conceded, still smiling at him.

“What’s the deal with you and Krum?” he asked seriously, knowing instinctively that the story would not have a happy ending.

“I’m surprised you don’t already know.”

“How would I know?”

“I assumed it had been gossip fodder.”

“So this is an old story?”

“From forth year.”

“Makes sense.”  He remained silent for a little while, wondering if she would tell.  Finally she sighed.

“He took me to the Yule Ball,” she began, eyes down.  He was starting to regret bringing the subject up. 

“I saw you there.  You looked beautiful.”  She looked up in surprised confusion at that.

“Thanks,” she replied hesitantly, “anyhow, I was very much star-struck.  Here was this famous athlete who was interested in ugly bookworm Hermione Granger.  I didn’t know what to think. Narcissa nearly lost her head when she heard. She had my dress custom made.  She even came to Hogwarts the day of the Ball to help me with my hair and makeup. I felt like a fairy princess…

“We went to the Ball, danced all night, drank punch, it was wonderful.  We were one of the last couples to leave the party. Afterwards, Viktor invited me to his room.  He wanted to show me some photos of his home in Bulgaria.”

“So you went…” Ron supplied when he felt her hesitate.  He didn’t like where this was going.

“So I went.  He had mentioned the photos on several occasions before, so I didn’t think anything of it.  I wasn’t ready for the night to end.

“I went to his room, walked inside, and then he closed and locked the door behind me.  That’s when I realized something was wrong,” the hand that laid flat on the table curled into a fist, “It took me  _ that long _ to realize what was going to happen.  And by then it was too late.”

“He raped you.”  It wasn’t a question.  Ron just needed to be the one that said it.  As though taking that word away from her would take the pain away in some respect.

“See, that’s the funny thing.  It wasn’t rape because I never said ‘no’ out loud.  I thought it, I screamed it in my head, but I never told him that I didn’t want him to be doing what he was doing.

“It hurt, and I cried a lot during…and after.  Especially after. That was even more painful than the physical act.”

“What happened?”

“After it was over, I lay there on the bed, kind of in shock, not really believing that this thing had happened to me.  I watched as he got up and put some clothes on. He turned to me and said that he was going to the toilet and that I shouldn’t be there when he returned.  He was done with me, he said. I barely waited until he had left the room before I was out the door and to the girls’ loo. I vomited everything in my stomach and stayed there all night.  I laid on the cold stone floor and just let the tears come. I had been so stupid. Everything I had in me to give, I had given to the wrong person. I would never be the same again. How could I face anyone at school after that?”

They remained silent for a few moments.  Ron’s stomach hurt at the knowledge of what had been done to her.  A part of him, growing larger by the second, wanted to go back to  _ Heston _ and beat the living hell out of the Bulgarian wanker.

“You obviously didn’t stay in the lavatory.”  He wanted the rest of it. He needed to know.

“No,” she smiled slightly, “the next morning, Pansy found me in there.  She had gotten worried when she woke and I wasn’t there. By this point, I was so numb that I could barely speak.  It scared the hell out of her and she ran for Draco. He came in and picked me up off the floor. When I saw him, I started sobbing again.  He held me for a few minutes, until I had cried out most of it. I felt as though I had let him down, and that hurt more than anything else.  As I quieted, he pulled away from me. He looked me square in the eye and gave me the best advice I have ever received.”

“What did he tell you?”

“He said, ‘all right, now you have cried over last night.  From this moment, it never happened. We will never speak of it again.  You will never cry over it again. You are better than this; better than him.  He will suffer for what he’s done to you. Maybe not today, but someday, and he will curse the day he betrayed you.  He will cower in fear whenever he hears you name. He will wet himself at the sound of you voice. You will have your revenge.’

“That statement made me feel powerful.  And it was exactly what I needed at the time.  I know you don’t like him. I know you don’t have any reason to.  But he has been a very good friend to me. I can’t forget that.”

Ron decided to let that go.  He seemed to remember now that after winter break fourth year, Draco never left Hermione’s side.  He also remembered hearing rumors that not only had there been a fight in the Slytherin dorms involving one of the Hogwarts students and a Durmstrang kid shortly after the Yule Ball, but also that Viktor Krum suffered from erectile dysfunction.  The story went that Heather Morgan, the hottest Ravenclaw there ever was, was all ready to sleep with him and the poor bastard couldn’t get it up. 

He could only assume now that Draco and Viktor had been the ones in the fight.  And he also figured that either Draco started the ED rumor, or, as his mastery of potions exceeded most people in their year, he had given Krum something to keep him limp.  It made sense.

Ok, so maybe the guy had hidden depths.  Hidden very, very, VERY far below the surface.  That didn’t mean he was going to start meeting up with him after work for a pint.

Despite whatever tiny scrap of good there was, he was still the enemy.  And Hermione’s ties to Draco and the rest of the Malfoys were not easily severed. As much as Ron trusted her, they did make her a liability in many ways.

“So,” she began again, desperate to change the subject, “how did you come by your rather  _ unique _ abilities?”

“Well, my mother is a really good cook, and she taught her children quite a…”

“Stop!” she giggled, reaching across the table to shove him, “you know what I mean.”

“You mean the telepathy?”

“Yes, I mean the telepathy, you tool.”

“I take offence to that.”

“You should.”

“Hmm…it’s different for everyone.  Some people are born with it because everyone in their line has it.  They are always connected. Some people have it because certain criteria are met by the circumstances of their birth.  It’s the latter in my case.”

“So what criteria was met on March 1 st ?”

“You know my birthday?”

“Of course, thorough study.   _ Duh _ .  Keep talking.”

“I am the seventh son of a seventh son.  Or seventh son of a seventh daughter, as it were.”

“But I thought you only had five older brothers.”

“I have five older brothers that survived to adulthood.  There was a baby before Bill. He didn’t make it.”

“Oh,” Hermione was very quiet.  Children dying in infancy or childhood was so rare nowadays.  How hard it must have been for his parents to get over that. Suddenly she felt like crying.  Ron sensed this, and hurried to distract her. He really didn’t want to deal with tears.

“So turns out ancient old wives tales are sometimes true.”

“Have you always been able to read people?”

“No, my talents were…latent.  I didn’t even know about them until they just appeared one day.”

“Why did they just suddenly appear?”

“Apparently it had something to do with my ‘becoming a man,’ as it were.”

“What?”

_ Ugh…she was supposed to be smart, she needed him to spell it out? _

“Oh, wait a minute, I think I get it.  You had to get your rocks off with a girl before they would work.”

“There it is.”  He looked down, assuming that the conversation would end on that rather uncomfortable note.

“So how old were you?”   _ Damnit _ .

“Do you really need to know this?”

“Come on, you heard, or saw really, my tragic story.  Spill!”

“Ok, I was sixteen.”

“She made you wait two years?!”  This outburst made the wait staff at the counter turn in their direction.   _ Great _ .

“Will you keep it down?  She didn’t make me do anything.  I wasn’t ready until then.”

“Wow,” she sat back and folded her arms across her chest.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he glared at her until she finally gave in and continued, “it’s just that you two were everybody’s favorite couple.  Not many people would have waited, so I guess that’s why we, or I, I should say, assumed that you hadn’t either.”

“I see.”

“So what can you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Can you move things, tell the future, forecast the weather…?”  She gave him a bemused look.

“It’s different for everyone.  I can read people’s thoughts. Sometimes people can communicate with me telepathically, but usually it’s only if they are trained to do so.  I don’t know how you figured it out. And as you saw before, I can implant memories. But I can also remove them if I think they will get me into a bad scene.”  He looked directly at her.

“I won’t tell.  You should know that by now.  I’m in pretty deep, too.” She looked slightly offended.

Even though their conversation had begun jovially, this topic was dead serious.  Tampering with people’s memories was asking for trouble, but, if used judiciously, could be an excellent tool.  Or a weapon. Ron was right to be concerned. If the other camp found out that their memories could or possibly had been tampered with, who knows what could happen.  Therefore, he only used that talent on very rare occasions when he felt it was absolutely necessary.

“How can you train people to communicate with you if they aren’t telepathic?”

“Well, how did you do it?”

“I just cleared my mind of anything except what I wanted you to know.  Then I repeated the sentence to myself over and over again.”

“That was very clever of you.”

“I do try.”  Try nothing, she looked downright triumphant.

“Training is basically the same thing.  The trainees are told to concentrate on a message and project it out to me.  If they are doing it properly, I can pick it up and then send them a response.  It takes practice, though. Ginny is really good at it, but we’ve always been close.  Neville is ok, but we don’t work on it as often as we should.”

“So how do you explain the fact that I could do it on the first try?”

“You’re also telepathic?”  Ron loved sarcasm.

“Oh, ha ha ha.”

“Dunno really.  You are ridiculously intelligent.  Maybe you just have better control over what goes on in your brain than other people.  But it isn’t much of a test if I am sitting right across from you in a quiet setting and know that you are going to be sending me something.”

“Oh.”  This was interesting information.  Hermione decided to work on it once he went back to the office on Monday.

A few more seconds passed in comfortable silence.

“You said before that you weren’t ready until you were sixteen.  How did you know?”  _ Why was she bringing this up  _ **_again_ ** _? _

“It felt right at the time,” he struggled, unsure why he was continuing, “but in retrospect, I wonder if it really was.”

“Would you take it back?  Would you change what had happened?”

“Some days, the answer is yes.  But then I think about all the things I have been able to do, how I’ve helped in the war, and I think that I wouldn’t.  Things unfolded as they were meant to.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, picking at what was left of the food.

“Would you take it back?” he asked her.

She looked him square in the eye.  “No.”

The answer surprised him.  “Even though it was painful?”

“I’m not scared of pain.  And that experience has made me the person that I am.  It has been another step on the road that has led me to this moment.  And I wouldn’t take this moment back for anything.” She smiled at him then, a small smile, a scared smile.  But a hopeful smile.


	7. Better Living Through Magic

_ 2:00 p.m.  Where the HELL were they?!?! _

Ginny paced at the hallway nexus again, as though that would somehow make her brother and his…chickie arrive sooner.  This wasn’t a casual visit after all. She was starting to get nervous.

The sound of clicking footsteps down the hall had her stomach in knots until she saw the flame of red hair turning the corner.

“Jesus, it took you long enough.”

“Sorry,” a glamoured Hermione muttered quietly, looking genuinely embarrassed, “but  _ someone _ is impossible to get up in the morning.”  She shot Ron a dirty look.

“You were the one who had me out until all hours…” Ron was crankier than usual.   _ What in the hell was going on at that flat? _

“I’m not the one who suggested the all-night feeding frenzy!” Hermione looked ready to start screaming in frustration.

“OK!” Ginny yelled over them, as loudly as she could without alerting the whole hospital, “can we just get on with this?”

“Of course,” Hermione smiled brightly at the other woman, “after you.”

Ginny sighed and turned on her heel.  She pushed the doors to the Dementia wing apart in front of her.

_ Thirteen _

__ __ _ Fourteen _

__ __ _ Fifteen _

Ginny turned to her left and looked at the door without making any other movement.

“Is this it?” Hermione asked.

“Yes.”

“What’s the matter?” she continued softly.  Ginny turned sad eyes to face her.

“I’ve never actually been in this room.  This is the closest contact I think anyone has come to him in 17 years.”  She swallowed the lump in her throat.

“How do you check on him, then?”

“He’s monitored within the room and then the glass will give us a read out when we recite the proper incantation.”

“Does the room keep track of who goes in and out?” This came from Ron, whose Auror senses were tingling.

“I don’t know.  I think so.”

“We had better disable it then.”  Ginny said the incantation and then Ron fiddled with it until the information on the glass froze.

“That should do it,” he said, “I hope.”

“Well, let’s hope so,” replied Hermione tartly, “because I can’t exactly run in these shoes if a siren goes off.”

Ginny took a deep breath and opened the door.

Silence engulfed them.  Today he was laying in the sunlight that fell from the room’s only window.  Huddled on his side in a fetal position, it was impossible to tell his height.  Ginny approached him slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible. He didn’t even acknowledge that the door had been opened or that there were people in his room.

Hermione immediately went to the opposite corner and began setting up her cauldron and other supplies.  Ron hovered in the doorway, an intense feeling of unease preventing him from walking all the way into the room.

“Ron, you’ll have to get out of the way of the door,” Hermione said, glancing up at him, “we can’t leave it open like that.  In about 15 minutes, I’ll need you to help me get him into a sitting position. I need to pour this potion down his throat.” Ron reluctantly moved inside, allowing the door to softly close behind him.  Neither his sister, nor Potter, had moved since Hermione had entered.

“Ginny,” the sound of Hermione calling her name shocked her into attention, “what do you need to do to ensure that we will be left alone for an hour?”  She shook her head to clear the cobwebs.

“Uhh…you should be fine.  I’ll need to leave for a while to do a short burst of rounds.  But I told everybody that I would check on him today, so no one will need to come down here.”

“What about the other patients in this wing?” Hermione asked as she dropped some chopped herbs into the pot.

“Their stats have already been taken for today.  Sadly, no one pays much mind to the poor souls in the dementia wing.”

“Except today,” Hermione said, baring her left wrist.  She held a heavy, ornate knife in her right hand.

“What the hell are you doing?” Ron cried, mouth hanging open as she cut her skin.  She pushed on the wound to force blood to drip down into the cauldron. The potion coagulating inside boiled, changed color, and then relaxed.

“We need some extra-strength magic today.  Sometimes that calls for blood sacrifice.” She answered as if responding to a question about the weather.

“Blood magic is dark magic.” Ginny said, facial expression matching her brother’s.

“Blood magic is gray area,” Hermione retorted with a strange Russian sounding accent.  Whatever joke she was trying to make, the two Weasleys didn’t get it. She rolled her eyes.  “Don’t worry. It won’t turn him into a Deatheater or anything. It’ll just be super-potent wake up juice.”

“How much longer will it take to brew?” Ron asked, trying to hide his shock.

“Thirteen minutes, give or take,” she wrapped a bandage around her arm, “for now, all we need to do is relax and get ready.”

“Get ready for what?”

“For the fireworks to start.”

****

TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLT

Thirteen minutes had gone by.  Ron had propped Harry up and Hermione had forced the elixir down his throat.   _ Force _ made it sound violent, which was really misleading.  Harry just sat there and swallowed when he could no longer breathe.  He never made eye contact with them, just continued to stare out into space.

The three stood and watched him expectantly.  Nothing happened. Ginny looked at Ron, who looked at Hermione, who sighed.

“Well, I anticipate that it will take awhile to get through his system.  So now,” she said, walking to a wall and sliding down so she could sit against it, “we wait.”

So they waited.  Ginny left to do her rounds, promising to be back as soon as possible.  Ron simply sat beside Hermione in the silence.

Ten minutes clicked by.

“What’s supposed to happen?” he asked.

“I’m not entirely sure,” she replied, “I assume that he will show some signs of life.”

“Do you really think this is going to work?”  She sighed.

“I am starting to have my doubts.”

Another seven minutes.

“I shouldn’t have barged in on you and Daphne last night.”

“Are you kidding?  I was happy for the save.”  She turned to smile at him.

“I just didn’t want you to think that I was trying to cock-block you or anything.”

“Not possible,” he chuckled, “you don’t have the necessary equipment.”

Five more minutes.

“So what’s the deal with you and Draco Malfoy?” he turned to face her.

“What do you mean?” she turned to face him.

“Are you two romantically involved?”

“Why are you asking?”

“So I know exactly what’s going on and how loyal you really are to them.”

“First of all, I’m loyal to myself first and foremost.  If someone else jeopardizes my main concern,  **_me_ ** , I don’t think I owe them anything.”

“You never answered my question.”

“I don’t really think it’s any of your business.”

“You make it my business.”

“How so?”  Voices were beginning to get raised, tempers were flaring…

“By…”

“ _ Uuhhhh _ .”  Ron and Hermione froze, and very slowly turned to look across the room.  Harry Potter had moved.

“ _ Uuhhh _ …” and he was groaning.  Hermione was on her feet first and by Harry’s side in a heartbeat.  She knelt beside him.

“Harry?” she called quietly, reaching her hand out.

“Hermione, DON’T!” Ron cried, as every nerve in him screamed.  But it was too late. Hermione laid her hand softly on Harry Potter’s arm and it had the same effect as sticking a fork into a wall socket.  Except, instead of being thrown across the room, her hand clenched tightly onto Harry’s upper arm, apparently incapable of relaxing. Both Harry and Hermione were thrown onto their backs on the floor.  Hermione’s eyes were now closed, just as his were, and they were panting erratically. 

_ Damnit, where was Ginny? _

Ron knew that if he touched them, he would most likely be pulled into the spell, too.  But he had to separate them. He knew this instinctively. If not, Hermione would most likely end up in the room next to Harry’s.

He paced for a few moments, as their breathing became more ragged and shallow.  Ginny was nowhere in sight. He just hoped that he knew what he was doing. Before doubts could stop him, Ron reached down, clamped his hand on Hermione’s and pulled.

He had never felt pain like this before.  It was sharp, and hot, and stabbing, and ran like lightning from the place where his hand touched Hermione right to his heart.  Ron didn’t know this at the time, but upon grabbing Hermione’s hand, he was thrown across the room with such force that the plaster cracked on impact.  Hermione was thrown into him. He sat slumped on the floor against the wall, Hermione basically in his lap with his arms around her loosely.

All was peaceful in the hospital room once again.

****

TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLT

That was how Ginny found them nearly a half hour later.  Harry lay peacefully on his back, all appearances saying he was asleep.  Ron and Hermione were across the room, looking to all the world as though they were cuddled on the couch, dozing.  Hermione’s glamour was gone.

Ginny walked quickly to her brother and shook his shoulder.  No response. She put her fingers to his carotid artery. His heartbeat was rhythmic and strong.   _ He’s still alive at least. _  She did the same to Hermione.  Also alive, but also unconscious.

“Ron,” she pushed on his shoulder again, slapped his face.  “Ron!”

“Ugh… Ginny, what?” he wearily opened his eyes to look at her.  “Where am I?”

“You don’t remember?”  She was starting to get nervous.

“Umm… what?” he turned confused eyes on her.

“Do you know who I am?  Do you know your name?” she made the end of her wand glow, pulled his eyelids up, and tried to get his pupils to follow the light.

“Yes, stop it,” he weakly pushed her hand away from his eyes.

“What happened?”

“I dunno, I can’t process it right now.”

“How do you feel?”

“Like I am just getting up after a good, long night of drink.  This is the worst hangover  _ ever _ .”

“Just a headache then?’

“That and I can’t breathe,” he cast his eyes down to see Hermione sprawled on top of him, “Oh, well, that explains that.  Listen, we’ve got to get out of here. She might be recognized.”

“Can you apparate?”

“I can, but she’s out.  Can you give her a sidealong?”

“We’ll just wake her up.”

“No use.  She’ll be out for awhile.  She’s in deep REM now.”

“How do you know?”  He gave his sister a dirty look.

“Oh.  Duh. Are you sure she’s just asleep?”  Ron closed his eyes for a moment and Ginny thought she had lost him again.  Until she realized he was just reading Hermione.

“Yeah, she’s fine, just sleeping.”

“Ok, then.  Let’s get you up,” she stood and yanked Hermione up.  It was a good thing the other woman weighed so little or Ginny would have fallen over.  After standing, Ron was able to carry her outside, where he once again propped Hermione up against Ginny.  He stepped away, took a deep breath, and disappeared.

Ginny followed with the comatose Hermione a moment later.  After arriving on Ron’s roof, she thrust the body at him and immediately apparated back to St. Mungo’s.

She hurriedly returned to the Dementia wing.  After restarting Harry’s monitors, she peeked inside.

_ All that for nothing. _  There had been no change.


	8. Jailbreak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: I am not a medical professional. :)

Hermione slept for three days.  Ron kept constant mental vigil over her from wherever he happened to be.  After hour 70, he considered calling Ginny. He knew that Hermione wasn’t in any pain; all he got from her was tranquil blackness, REM sleep.  It was due to that constant vigilance that he was able to be at her side when she finally awoke. He apparated to the flat as soon as he felt the prickles of her brain reactivating.

As Hermione blinked to allow her eyes to become accustomed to the light, Ron’s form came into clearer view.  The rush of happiness she felt at seeing him was disturbing.

“Uhh…,” she groaned, rolling onto her side and struggling to sit up, “what time is it?”

“2:30.”

“2:30 in the afternoon?” she sat hunched over, hands dangling lifelessly between her knees while she regarded him wearily.

“It’s usually not this bright out at 2:30 in the morning.”

“But it can’t be 2:30 in the afternoon, we were still at the hospital at 2:30,” muttering more to herself than to him, she attempted to stand and promptly had her legs collapse beneath her.  Luckily, Ron guessed this would happen and caught her easily before she hit the floor. He carried her to a chair and propped her up. She looked up at him, “wait, what day is it?”

“Wednesday; you’ve been out almost 72 hours exactly.”

“Wednesday!” she looked a little green at that, “Has there been any word from the hospital?”

“No change,” he sighed and sat on the bed she had just vacated, “Potter’s the same as how we left him Sunday afternoon.”

Surprisingly, she didn’t see overly concerned at the prognosis.   _ Wasn’t the entire plan hinged on Harry regaining his sanity?   _ “I have no memory of leaving the hospital.”

“What’s the last thing you do remember?” Ron asked.

“Do you mean the last thing I remember from the hospital room or the last thing I remember after being pulled into the spell?”

Ron stilled at that.  After he touched her while in Harry’s hospital room, he had gone into sensory overload.  The sights, the sounds…he hadn’t begun trying to process them yet.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about,” she said, looking at him with her head in her hand, “I know you know what I’m talking about.  There was all this… _ interference _ after you involved yourself.”

“I’m not ignoring you,” he finally replied, “I’m just still a little shaken from the whole thing.”  She smiled at him weakly. “Did you know that would happen?” She shook her head.

“An unforeseen consequence.  That and the sore muscles and joints, I guess.”

“The physical discomfort is probably from getting blasted into the wall.  Or rather, from getting blasted into me who was blasted into the wall.”

“Oh, sorry,” she looked away quickly. 

After the club, she had subtly tried to keep as much physical distance between them as possible.  Not that it mattered, since he could dive in and out of her mind at will by this point. Hermione most likely would have freaked if she had seen how Ginny had found them.

But that apparently would be a discussion for another time.  The semi-comfortable silence in the spare room was broken by a disembodied voice from the lounge.

“Ronald Weasley!”  The older she got, the more Ginny Weasley sounded like her mother.

Ron ran into the room as fast as he could, forgetting Hermione’s weakened state.  Luckily, by now she was roused enough to stumble out into the apartment.

Ginny’s head appeared amidst green flames in the fire grate.  She did not look happy.

“What’s up, Gin?” Ron asked.

“You had better get over to St. Mungo’s right away,” she said fearfully, eyes sliding to the left as though trying to determine if anyone were in the room with her at the hospital.

“What happened?”

“Just get over here as soon as you can!  And bring what’s-her-name with you.”

****

TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLT

****

The experience from Sunday afternoon had left Hermione physically and magically drained.  She wasn’t quite together enough to cast another glamour, so she bundled herself in Ron’s clothes as a sort of disguise.  Apparating on her own was out of the question, so she begrudgingly wrapped her arms around Ron on the roof of his flat for a sidealong.  He noticed that she clutched him for just a second too long following their arrival to the hospital. She pretended it hadn’t happened, stepped away from him, and maintained her distance afterward.

This time, Ginny met them at the door.  She refused to speak when they arrived and beckoned them while turning on her heel towards the Dementia wing.

The two new arrivals saw something different as soon as they entered the wing.  The shadow in front of Harry’s door was moving. Ron’s hand on her wrist prevented Hermione from going any further.

“What’s he doing, Gin?” Ron asked.

“Dunno.  He was pacing when I got here this afternoon.”

“How long ago was that?”

“About an hour and a half ago.”

“That’s just about when Hermione started coming around.”

“How do you know that!?!” Hermione interrupted angrily.  The Weasleys ignored her.

“What did you do then?” Ron continued.

“I finished my rounds as quickly as I could and floo-ed you.”

“Did you go in?”

“No!” They just stared at each other.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Hermione asked, moving forward to stand before the door.  “Ginny, open it.” She looked at Ginny, who looked at Ron, who sighed.

_ How much damage could he possibly do? _

“Go ahead, Gin.”  Ginny stepped forward and unlocked the door.  Hermione stood aside and allowed the younger woman to enter first.

Ginny forced herself not to show any reaction to the sight that awaited her upon entering the room.  Harry was crouched in the corner, leaving a trail of black ink behind him. Two of the four walls of his room were covered in print in some foreign language.

“Where did he get the pen?” Hermione asked, as she began reading the walls.

“It must have fallen out of my robes on Sunday,” Ginny replied, staring at the writing.

“Is this Latin?” Ron asked.  Hearing a male voice in the room, Harry went absolutely still.  From where she was standing, Ginny watched his eyes dart to the side and look briefly at Ron and Hermione.  Very slowly, he rose to his feet and placed his back to the wall. He stood there, stilly, silently, and waited for them to move.

“Yes, it’s Latin.” Hermione replied.

“Why does Harry know Latin?” asked Ginny, detecting that although he remained still, Harry’s eyes darted to her direction at the sound of her voice.

“Because Voldemort knows it.”

_ Oh, well, that made perfect sense. _  Ginny rolled her eyes.

“Well, what does it say?”

“I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

“Why can’t you just tell us now?”

“I’m not going to start muttering whatever it says,” Hermione tartly replied, “who knows what kind of terror could be unleashed?”  She continued scanning the words until something brought her up short. She gaped at the wall for a few seconds before turning to look in Harry’s direction.  “Haldol?!?” she asked him.

“Wait, what?” Ginny’s brain went into hyperdrive as Harry walked to the second wall and pointed to a section.  Hermione moved to that area and began reading.

“What’s Haldol?” Ron asked, feeling left out.

“It’s a very powerful Muggle drug, Ron,” Hermione answered without taking her eyes off the wall she was reading.

“What, like Sprezz?”

“No,” Ginny replied, wishing she knew what Hermione was reading, “it’s a drug that Muggle doctors give patients who are crazy.”

“So what does this have to do with Harry?”

“That’s a very good question,” Ginny said, inching closer to Hermione, who had finally reached the end of the wall.  She stepped back and took a deep breath.

“He can’t stay here,” Hermione looked at Ron, “it isn’t safe.”

“Why isn’t it safe?”

“Voldemort must have agents within the hospital that have been drugging him, or at least were able to get those meds put into his diet.  If they are still around and find out that he’s ‘awake,’ they might not just stop at slipping him pills this time.”

“So what do we do?” Ginny asked, actually liking the idea of getting Harry out of his room.

“Take him to Ron’s,” Hermione flashed Ron a smile, “that’s where all the refugees go.”

“So how do we get him out of here?” Ron asked, but Hermione’s movement shocked him into silence.  She had turned around and was peeling layers of shirts off.

“What are you doing?!” Ginny cried.

“We’ll bundle him up in my clothes and I’ll wear his scrubs.  You get him back to the flat. Ginny, once the boys get safely outside, come back in here and tell me and then I will apparate back to 317.”

“Are you sure you’re up to it?” Ron asked.

“Yeah, I feel stronger by the minute,” she smiled at him again and Ginny felt the urge to look away.   _ There was something going on there, something that might not be good. _

“What about the room sensors?” Ginny asked, desperate to stop them from mooning at each other.

“I’ll take care of that,” Ron immediately used his wand to scan the room and force the sensors to give inaccurate results.  He also charmed the window/view screen to show the image of Harry inside, laying on his back on the floor.  _ Having a super Auror for a brother sure came in handy sometimes. _

What none of them noticed was that, while they were plotting, Harry had moved as far away from them as he could get, forcing his shoulder into the corner and crouching down.  Ginny finally realized that something was wrong and brought it to the attention of the other two.

“He doesn’t know if he can trust us,” theorized Hermione.

“So, he’s intelligent, despite the fact that he may or may not have brain damage,” retorted Ron.  Hermione stepped toward Harry slowly. He looked more nervous with every inch closer she came.

“Hermione, maybe that’s not such a good idea,” Ginny cautioned, but Hermione ignored her.  As she continued toward the corner, Hermione removed the bandage covering her left wrist. Ron and Ginny watched silently as she sniffed the wound and then bared her forearm to Harry, stopping two feet in front of him.  There she stood, completely still, waiting for him to decide what he would do.

He made them wait a good five minutes.  Then, very slowly, he slid up against the wall.  He bent forward at the waist just enough to bring his nose toward Hermione’s wrist.  Every other body part stayed as far from her as possible. Harry sniffed at her arm and then pulled back as quickly as human physiology would allow.

“What…?” Ron’s question was silenced abruptly by Hermione putting her hand up for quiet.

They watched as Harry closed his eyes to try to process everything.  When he opened them again, he smiled, a strange, inhuman thing. It seemed a mistake on his face.  But he was breathing easier now, and allowed Hermione to approach him. She placed the jumper she had been wearing in his outstretched hand.

“What the hell was that all about?” Ron asked irritably.

“After the potion Sunday, my blood runs through his veins.  Letting him smell it allowed him to make the connection of where it came from and that he could trust us.  He looks bleeding awful, let’s get him out of here.”

They changed his clothes and put Hermione in the scrubs.  Apparently, she was feeling much better, because as they all watched, she glamoured her hair shorter and put Harry’s tell-tale scar on her forehead.

“That is just creepy,” Ron muttered as he and Ginny led Harry to the door.

“Don’t dawdle, Ginny,” Hermione said before they were completely gone, “I want to get out of here as soon as possible.”

She nodded silently as she put her hand on Harry’s arm.  She couldn’t believe it. The miracle had happened. He was awake, he was moving around.  But one thing bothered her.

Thus far, he hadn’t said a word.


	9. God Is In The Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that so far, this is my favorite chapter. It’s either this or Heston. Please forgive my blatant plagarism from V for Vendetta. I just thought that line was really beautiful, and wanted to include it.

Harry’s timing could have been better.  Immediately upon getting the door from the roof open into Ron’s flat, they were greeted by Neville’s head in the fireplace.  A raid. Ron was needed so Hermione was left to get Harry sorted.

She wasn’t horribly maternal, so this was a bit of a problem.  Thankfully, she was practical, and being so she realized that he would need the three basics of life: a shower, a meal, and a bed. 

He didn’t complain; just stood there and followed her instructions.  Hermione did notice that Harry had become noticeably more relaxed after Ron left.  She shoved him into the lavatory, praying that he would be able to figure out how to bathe himself, and went treasure hunting in Ron’s room.

She relished the search a little more than necessary.  Ron had forbidden her entrance into his room pretty much as soon as she had come to his home.  It was the one room she hadn’t sterilized during her nesting binge. As soon as Hermione heard Harry turn the shower tap on, she slowly opened the door and walked into the room.

She stood in the doorway first, scrutinizing the scene before her.  Amazingly, it was relatively neat and clean. There wasn’t even a layer of dust on everything as there had been in the rest of the flat.  She stepped in and took a deep breath.

_ Hmm…a little of him, but not much. _

She went to the bed, which was made.  Feeling reckless and wanting, just a little, to get caught, she sat on the bed.  She reached down to touch the comforter. It was smooth, and soft, and cold beneath her fingertips.  Smiling wickedly, she laid back on it, feeling absolutely sinful as the fluffy enormity of the blanket swooped in to choke her.  There he was; she could smell him now. It smelled like soap, and whatever aftershave he wore, and… _ EWW!!! _  Dirty Boy Smell! 

Hermione bolted upright.  She didn’t want dirty boy smell.  Gross. Springing off the bed, she made her way to the closet.  Wary now, she kept her eyes peeled for the hamper.

Dirty boy smell was not something that was within the realm of her experience.  Before Ron, she had only been in close enough contact with two males to get a whiff of their scent.  She had pretty much figured that smelling bad didn’t fit into Viktor’s whole seduction plan, as it were, so he was  always totally scrubbed and perfumed before their little… _ interlude _ .

The few times she had snuggled up with Draco had been much the same.  She tried to imagine Draco smelling bad but Hermione just did not have that much imagination.  She tried to remember him after Quidditch games. She realized that she had never seen him directly after a game.  He had always shown up about 45 minutes later.  _ Ahh…he must have been showering for eons.  What a girl. _  She smirked.  Draco’s bed was the same.  Pristine silk sheets that the poor house elves must launder daily.  No wonder she hadn’t been ready for Ron’s odor.

By this point, she had made it to the closet.  She opened the doors and was literally hit in the face by what she was looking for: clothing.  Apparently Ron’s version of cleaning his room meant shoving everything in the closet. She was astonished she hadn’t been brained by an errant broom or bludger or something.  She could only imagine that under the bed was kept in the same state. Thankfully, at least these clothes were clean. She grabbed a Chudley Cannons t-shirt and some lounge pants. 

_ Do boys have the same “wearing some else’s knickers” issues as girls? _

Well, to be safe Harry would just have to go commando for the time being.

Next, socks.  Shoes were out of the question, and he really didn’t need them at the moment, anyway.  They would have to amend that eventually, but for now, socks would do.

She grabbed her findings and strode out to the hallway.  Not bothering to knock, but not throwing the door wide open either, Hermione thrust her arm inside and placed the clean clothes on the vanity.  If he could shower himself, he could certainly dress himself! She heard the tap being turned off.

_ One necessity down.  Now, what to do about dinner? _

TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTL

“I feel very sorry for you,” Hermione said as she hunted through the cupboards for supplies, “It figures, your first night out of the joint and you would be subjected to my cooking.  Ron’ll come home to find you begging to go back to hospital.” She turned to make eye contact with him. 

Harry had been seated at the table in the small kitchen following his shower.  She didn’t understand why, but she wanted to be able to keep an eye on him as she put something together to eat.  She had horrifying images of Harry falling out of a carelessly left open window or sticking a fork in a wall socket.   _ Hmm… _ perhaps she did have something of a maternal instinct after all.  In any case, he really shouldn’t be left to wander around; there was no telling what he might get into.

He watched her move back and forth, capturing a bowl here or a pot there.  He liked listening to her talk. Harry hadn’t really heard human voices in almost two decades.  Well, he hadn’t heard them outside his head anyway. So he was content to just sit there. Everything was mostly blurry, but so long as she kept moving, he could tell where she was.  It gave him a sense of security, having her around. He liked her, he  _ remembered _ her, but as he continued to come out of his medicated cocoon, he began to realize that she really wasn’t there when everything happened.  Somehow, she had gotten into his memories of that night.

He didn’t know people could do that.

He was also glad the man wasn’t there.  The man was intimidating. He was too intense for Harry.  Harry liked the woman. She was like a hummingbird, never still, never slow.  After years of boredom, his brain craved stimulation.

She smacked her head on the underside of the counter as she stood and muttered a curse under her breath.  “Well, the Two Fat Ladies I am not, but I can make a salad and boil some pasta, so we won’t starve.” His silence was beginning to unnerve her.  Normally she liked the quiet; but a quiet person was always watching, and in her experience, always waiting for her to make a mistake.

Hermione moved to the fridge.  Ron had made tomato sauce and meatballs the other night.  Hoping she would awaken, she supposed, he had made enough for an army.  She took the leftovers, mashed some meatballs and mixed it with the sauce.  After a short zap with a warming charm from her wand, it was spooned atop some of the noodles and placed in front of Harry with a flourish.   _ And who says I can’t cook? _

Harry stared at the plate before him as Hermione turned back to the counter to fix her own plate.

“Spaghetti Bolognese.” 

Hermione was so shocked by the sound that she started and nearly dropped her plate.  Taking a few seconds to calm herself, she slowly turned around to face him. She clutched the almost-kamikaze plate to give her hands something to do.

“Pardon?” she whispered; she couldn’t bring herself to be any louder than that.  Harry continued to stare at the plate.

“Spaghetti Bolognese.” He had taken so long to answer, Hermione had almost convinced herself that she had imagined the entire thing.  Harry finally turned bright green eyes to look at her. 

“My mother always called it that,” the voice was raspy from disuse; the words slow, agonized over, “my parents honeymooned in Italy.  She said that cooking this always reminded her of that trip.”

Hermione couldn’t move.  All she did was gape at him.  He speaks! He was speaking!! He was staring at her…

“Those must have been fond memories for her,” Hermione finally forced herself to say, realizing that he was waiting for her to contribute to the conversation.  He blinked.

“They were.”  His eyes returned to the food.  “Where are they?”

Hermione hadn’t been ready for this.  She sat across from him.

“Harry,” she began slowly, “what do you remember from that night?”

On her saying the words “that night,” Harry closed his eyes and swallowed.  She really didn’t want to do this without Ron and Ginny there. She was going to screw it up and send him back into catatonia.   _ Didn’t they know she was no good with people? _

“I remember everything,” he stated flatly, “but I can’t pick individual things out right now,” he met her eyes again, “You tell me.”  Now it was Hermione’s turn to swallow the lump in her throat.

“They died, Harry.  I’m sorry.”

“Who died?”

“Your parents.”

“What about Sami and Mark?” 

Hermione was confused.  “Who are Sami and Mark?”

“My little sister and brother.”

TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLT

****

It was well past dark when Ron finally returned home.  The bright sunny day had turned into heavy, brooding night.  There would be a fierce autumn storm that night, with buckets of rain and howling winds.  Merlin, was he glad to be home.

He was filthy and achy and starving.  Chasing evil was so much easier ten years ago.  His lifestyle was beginning to get to him; sad considering he was only 27.  The flat was dark, which was a little disconcerting as it was only 9 o’clock.  He walked immediately to the kitchen.

The sight of Hermione staring blankly out the window in the darkness startled him, but he covered it quickly and continued on to the fridge.  She didn’t even acknowledge him.  _ Well, that just wouldn’t do. _

“Where’s Harry?” he asked, grabbing some meatball-pasta concoction and collapsing into a chair.

“The spare room, sleeping.”

“What the hell could he possibly need more sleep for?  Hasn’t he been asleep for, like, the past 17 years, basically?”  He didn’t know why he was picking a fight with her. Maybe it was because she wouldn’t look at him and just kept staring out the window.  It was irritating, really.

“I don’t know.”  Better question, why wasn’t she taking the bait?

“What’s the matter?” he finally relented in a softer voice.  He wouldn’t  _ read _ her, but he could still feel some uncomfortable emotion coming from her.

“He had siblings.”   _ What?!? _  Finally she turned to look at him, arms crossed over her chest, numb expression on her face.  “Did you know?”

His gaping jaw gave away his surprise.  “No. How did you find out?”

“He told me.”

“So he’s talking now?”

“Yes.”

“And what did he tell you?”

“He had two of them, a little sister, who was 7 at the time, and a brother, who was 3.”

“I had never heard of them.”

“Nor had I.  What happened to them?”

“Dunno.” He tilted his head as he looked at her, deciding his next statement was probably best said in a straightforward manner, “Hermione, they’re probably dead.”  She took a deep breath.

“That’s what I thought.” She turned back around, facing the window once more, “It’s my fault.”  This was said so quietly that he barely heard it.

“What?  How can you say that? You were, what,  _ 11 years old _ at the time?”

“It doesn’t matter.  I may as well have killed them.  Do you know what I do? Do you know what my Deatheater job is?  I develop weapons. I think up ways for my fellow Deatheaters to kill people.  Innocent people.  _ Muggle _ people.  People who think that witches don’t exist outside of movies and books.  What does it matter that I was only 11 when Sami and Mark died? What does it matter that I wasn’t there?  The things that I create do the work for me. The most entertaining part is that my first mission was to kill someone in cold blood.  And I couldn’t even do it! I looked at the woman I was supposed to hex until her heart stopped and I couldn’t do it. I threw up all over my shoes.  Draco had to come and do it for me. It would have been better if Voldemort had killed me when we got back. The world would have been a better place.”

“Don’t say things like that!” Ron was out of his chair now, fatigue momentarily forgotten.  He gripped her shoulders, turning her to face him, “You’re working on a way to stop all this.  Voldemort will be dead and his followers destroyed because of the work you’re doing. Right now.”

“But why am I trying to kill Voldemort?  Is it for some benevolent purpose? Am I trying to save humanity?  No! I’m doing it to cover my own ass!” She pulled abruptly away from him.

“Who cares?”

“What?” she turned to look at him, her surprise at his question taking some of the fire out of her self-loathing.

“Who gives two shits why you’re doing what you’re doing?”  She just gaped at him. “Hermione, I care about the other people around me, and I want to make the world safe for everyone, but don’t you think that I, and all the other ‘good guys,’ have at least slightly selfish motives for doing what we do, too?”  She continued to just look at him. He sighed and backed away.

“A lot of the time, what’s best for humanity is also best for Ron Weasley.”

“So my one charitable act redeems me of seven years of villainy?”

“I can’t answer that.  That’s something you have to square with yourself.”

“Ron, you may think that there is selfishness in what you do, but your day-job isn’t making things that kill people.”

“I do kill people, however.”

“Yeah, the  _ bad _ guys.  Of which I am one; I’m a pretty important one.  When are you gonna wake up and do what it is that good guys do to the bad guys?”

“When you give me a reason to.”

“Ugh!  You are so naïve.  I’ve given you a thousand…” her tirade was interrupted by the sound of a door slamming.  Drawing their wands, Ron and Hermione went into the lounge. Not seeing anyone, they continued through the apartment until they stopped in front of the door to the spare room.

“Is he alright in there?” Hermione asked Ron, who quickly  _ read _ the room.

“Er, no.” He put a hand on her arm to stop her from going in, “He’s not in there.”

“Then where?”

Ron pointed to the door to the roof.  They quickly walked up the stairs and sure enough, Harry stood out on the roof, near the ledge.  A gentle rain had begun to fall, and was gaining strength.

“Harry?” Hermione called from the doorway, so as not to shock him into doing something crazy.  He turned to look at her. “Are you alright?” He nodded and turned back around, lifting his face to the opened sky.

“Harry, come in out of the rain, you’ll get sick,” Hermione left her position next to Ron in the doorway and started toward him.  He gave no indication he heard her. When she arrived at the ledge, he turned his head so that he could face her.

“It’s raining,” he said.

“Yes.”

“My grandmother always said that God is in the rain.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.  Do you know what the rain does?”

“No,” she answered, staring at him. 

He reached out and took her hand in his.  As he turned his face again to the sky, he said, “It washes our sins away.”

She couldn’t help it.  Feeling the rain fall on her head, feeling the grip of his hand on hers, it undid every defense mechanism she had.  She too lifted her face to the sky as she began to cry. It had been so long since she had cried, she sometimes wasn’t sure if she even remembered how; but the tears came now, huge, raking, soul bending sobs that she couldn’t fight or hide; and to her amazement, she didn’t want to.  She cried as she felt the water hit her face and run down the round sides of her cheeks. She cried as she felt Harry squeeze her hand a little harder. She cried out everything bad and dark and evil that she had inside her; and for the first time since she could remember, she began to feel whole.

Ron remained at his place in the doorway, out of the rain and away from the pair.  There was some indescribable force that kept him apart from them. He knew subconsciously that he was not invited to share in what was happening between Harry and Hermione.  He looked at their clasped hands and gritted his teeth. From the pit of his stomach he felt something crawl forth, something that had lain dormant for a long time.

    Jealousy.  



	10. Hold Me Tight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the wonky formatting. I'm computer dumb and having some trouble with this interface. :(

Ron left the next morning before either of his houseguests awoke.  He didn’t want to interact with either of them in his present mood,  _ especially _ her.  That did not stop him, however, from standing over where she lay on the couch in the lounge, watching her sleep for several minutes.

He finally tore himself away, ascending the roof, and apparating to his office.

It was actually Ginny Weasley who woke the sleeping residents of 317.  She slammed the door to the roof on her way in to alert the maniacs inside of her presence.

Hermione’s eyes snapped open at the sound of the door, but she refused to rise from the couch.  Hoping to go unnoticed, she finally knew the jig was up when the redhead peeked over the top of the sofa to greet her.

“Morning, Sunshine!”

_ Damn feet!  Note to self, tonight sleep in fetal position so as not to have feet hanging over side and giving one away. _

“And just what has you so chipper this morning?” asked Hermione moodily.

“What’s not to be ‘chipper’ about?  My favorite patient has made a miraculous recovery, he’s talking, the War will soon be over…”

“How do you know he’s talking?” asked Hermione as she swung her legs around and sat up.   _ The War!  Imagine the confidence it must take to just blindly assume your side would win. _

“I floo-ed Ron this morning.  He actually asked me to drop by.  He was worried that you weren’t awake yet.  I take it you normally rise with the sun?”

“Normally, yes.  But having a soul-colonic really makes a body tired,” Hermione put her head in her hands.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing,” she pepped up a little, “So, no medi-witch robes today, I see.  Finally a break?”

“Yes, thank God!  Four whole days.”

“Do you have any plans for today?”

“No.”

“Good, then you can help me take Harry shopping.”

“Shopping?”

“Yes, we desperately need to get Harry some clothing, and I don’t think anyone wants him running around like he just stepped out of the Deatheater Couture catalog, which is what will happen if I take him by myself.”

****

TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLT

****

Forty-five minutes later, Harry was happily buckled into the back of Hermione’s car.  They were babying him something terrible, but honestly, he was so happy for the attention and contact that he wasn’t about to complain.  He was outside! Well, almost outside. But he would be outside soon. Outside…where you could hear birds singing, feel the sun shining on your face and the wind blowing through your hair.

He was with two of his new favorite people.  The red one and the dark one. The dark one’s name was Hermione.  He repeated it to himself softly, hoping they wouldn’t hear.  _ Hermione _ .  Such an odd name…

The red one.  He didn’t remember her name, and he felt bad about that.  He had known her longer. She worked at the hospital. What was her name?

_ His _ name was Harry.  At least he remembered that.

The man was somewhere else.  Harry was glad of it. The man made him nervous; he was always looking at him so intensely.  Hermione was better: calm, quiet, soothing. The man was loud and scary.  _ But he wasn’t here now, was he?  No. Harry was here, with Hermione and Red. _

But the best, THE BEST, thing about today was that for the first time since he had come to hospital, he could see clearly.  He had always needed glasses, but he had lost them…sometime before the hospital. But today, when the red one arrived, she had new glasses for him.  He could see things again. It was marvelous. He went back to looking, in great detail, because he could now, out the window, not really paying attention to the chattering going on in the front of the car.  Just happy to have the noise of companionship around him.

“This is some ride you have here,” Ginny was saying, running her fingers down the smooth leather on the interior of the passenger door.

“Thank you.”

“I’m rather surprised that you own one.”

“You are referring to my having grown up in the Malfoy household?”  Ginny nodded. “Well, that was just another example of Hermione and Lucius going head to head.  I had always wanted a fast car, ever since I was a little girl. So when I got some money of my own, I went out and bought one.  Lucius had a fit when he saw me driving up the road to the Manor. The tantrum lasted until Draco decided that he had to have one, too.  After that, Lucius never said anything about it, and owning a car became a bit of a fad.”

“Well, I don’t know much about cars, but I understand that Mercedes are on the luxury end.”

“Oh, Lord, if you think this is bad, you should see Draco’s car.  We had to go all the way to America for that freakin’ thing.”

“What does he have?”

“A Cadillac Escalade.  It’s the biggest, most expensive, most ostentatious thing I have ever seen in my whole life.  It’s what those rapper-guys drive,” Hermione smiled over at Ginny, “you know, there’s an old saying that some men will buy expensive cars to try to compensate for something else.  They feel that something of theirs is too small, so they buy something really big to make up for it.”

“Well, you would know,” countered Ginny, laughing.

“Eww!!!  I can proudly say that I have never seen Draco’s… _ eww _ …I can’t even say it.  He’s like a brother to me.  Are you trying to tell me that you’ve seen all your brothers naked?”

“No, although it does help that I was the youngest and kept out of many of their activities.  Saved the sanctity of my eyes, it did. Gross.” Hermione laughed.

“And now you know.  And knowing is half the battle.”

“You know, we all kind of thought that you and Draco were an item.”

“Oh, no.  Definitely not.  The whole ‘brother’ thing.  He just kept a closer eye on me as I got older.  And he’s one of only three people that I trusted; before this whole comedy of errors got started, anyway.”

“Who were the other two?”

“Blaise and Pansy.  Pansy was a bit of a necessity.  She was my dorm mate after all.”

“And Blaise?”

“Well, I figured something out about Blaise that was very personal to him before he himself had even figured it out.  When I approached him about it, the floodgates opened. It’s a little difficult not to trust someone who is baring their soul out to you.”

“Ahh…”

Ginny hated to admit it, but she was actually starting to like Hermione.  Hermione was smart, she could play the joke as well as be the joke, and she  _ was _ trying to help them.  Plus there was a vulnerability beneath all her strength that Ginny found appealing, as though the soft spots in her armor recognized similar areas in Hermione’s.

Without being able to stop herself, she started to think about her brother and Hermione.  The brunette was worlds away from Lavender as far as personality and soul went. Ginny had certainly never “hung out” with Lavender.  It was startling to think of it: in all the years that her brother had dated the girl, she and Lavender had never spent time doing things together.  The only Weasley Lavender had time for was Ron; the rest of the family could sod off.

It was one of the things that had upset her the most about Ron’s relationship with her.  Ron was very precious to Ginny, he was her favorite, the one she was closest to. She had expected that whatever girl he decided to get serious about she would like and want to embrace as a sister.  This sister-in-law would be more important than say, Charlie or Percy’s girl. This would be  _ Ron’s girl _ .

But Lavender had never attempted to be friendly towards Ginny.  There were occasions when she was downright rude. It made Ginny’s blood boil.

She knew that Hermione was lonely and rather desperate for female company.  But maybe if she was honest with herself, Ginny would realize that she was too.

****

TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLT

****

They spent the whole day shopping at Harrods.  The three of them had the time of their lives and Hermione spent thousands of pounds.  They had Harry outfitted with an entire wardrobe, with very little argument between Hermione and Ginny.  And if Harry was going to be getting new clothes, Hermione and Ginny deserved some new stuff too, right? Ginny even convinced Hermione to buy things that were something other than black.  Hermione, meanwhile, got Ginny to buy an outfit that proved to the world that she actually did have hips, and a shapely bum, and a pretty nice rack.

While Ginny was occupied getting Harry some shoes, Hermione also got something for Ron.  She shrunk the box and hid it in her purse before the other two joined her.

They had lunch at a fabulous café and then walked around a park for a while so that Harry could get some exercise.

As the sun began to set, they headed for 317.

“Do you think we should stop for some takeaway?” asked Hermione.

“Hold on, let me see if I can get Ron and make sure he isn’t cooking anything,” Ginny went very still and leveled out her breathing.  After what seemed like forever, she smiled and looked back at Hermione, “Takeaway it is then.”

The place nearest Ron’s flat was Indian, so, laden with curry and Naan bread, they climbed the stairs to the lounge.

Ron had been home for a while, and was enjoying the quiet.  He had been doing a great deal of thinking all day. He hadn’t checked on Hermione once, wanting some space from her after the night before.  Once he understood that Ginny would be acting as chaperone for the day he had switched off and thrown himself wholeheartedly into his work. Well, maybe not  _ whole _ heartedly, as any time he had a second to spare he would get distracted thinking about her.

The addition of Harry to his ever-growing household threw Ron’s life into chaos.  He was just starting to get used to having Hermione around all the time. He wasn’t ready for things to change again.

_ Okay, okay, okay _ .  Maybe the real reason why his nose was out of joint was because he liked having Hermione all to himself.  He was starting to get attached to her, in a romantic sort of way. Ron knew this was a bad idea. He knew that this would most likely end badly.  But he just couldn’t help himself. Hermione was like a drug to him, and he was fast becoming addicted to the way she looked at him, the sounds she made when she laughed, how he could throw her off her stoic pedestal.   _ And _ she was able to  _ send _ him messages.

Lavender had never done that.  She had never even tried.

And now here was the great Harry Potter, a big old mess who needed Hermione’s attention constantly.  He was connected to her in a way Ron wasn’t and never would be. He needed Hermione, and she was reveling in her new role.

Ron tried to think charitable thoughts.  He tried to be noble. But he was tired of being noble, dammit.  He wanted to be selfish for a change. He had Hermione first and he didn’t want to share.

He sat on the floor, back up against the sofa, poking angrily at his gosht roganjosh.  Ginny and Harry sat a bit away from him, looking at each dish questioningly and trying the smallest bites of anything.  Suddenly, Hermione was beside him, folding her legs with a bowl in her lap. He noticed that she was sitting quite close to him, especially since she had avoided physical contact with him previously.

“Aren’t they cute?” she whispered, not even turning her head in his direction.

“Who?”

“Harry and Ginny.   _ Duh _ .”  She rolled her eyes.

“Cute?”

“Yes, she’s picking out little bits of food and he’s letting her feed him.  It’s cute.”

“It’s disgusting,” he answered.  He couldn’t help it if she put him in a bad mood.

“You don’t have a romantic bone in your body, do you?” Now she was looking at him.

“Me?!  She’s treating Harry like he’s two years old.  How is that romantic?”

“It’s sensual.”  The way she said that made his heart beat a little faster.   _ Dammit.  She was a succubus, she had to be.  _

“Sensual, huh?  Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Why?  They’re both adults.  And Ginny looks like she could use some companionship.”

“Ok, I am going to forget that you said anything about Ginny and companions,” Ron shuddered, “but aren’t you upset that Harry is over there making goo-goo eyes at someone.”

“No.  Why would I be?”

“Well, I thought you two had something going on.  You looked pretty intense together last night.” Upon the mention of the previous evening, Hermione went cold.

“I’d rather not speak of what happened last night, thank you very much,” she said, all clipped and British.

“Ok, fine.  I just thought there was something going on with you two.”

“How can you be telepathic and be so completely blind?  My blood runs through Harry’s veins now. Do you understand what that means?  Magically, we are related. What you are suggesting would be the same as saying there was something ‘going on’ between you and Ginny.”  Ron turned to look at her.

“Really?”

“Yes, Ronald.”  Hermione rolled her eyes once again.

Well then, that suited him just fine.

****

TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLT

****

All the excitement of the day had Harry nodding off by ten o’clock.  He went to bed and Ginny left, saying that she would be back again the next day to help Hermione begin Harry’s training.

Hermione spent the rest of her evening putting away all the things that she had purchased that day and cleaning up while Ron went over paperwork at the kitchen table.

“My, aren’t we just a model of that jet-setting ‘20s lifestyle,” Hermione quipped as she entered the kitchen, interrupting Ron’s train of thought.

“Yeah, I don’t see you doing anything all that exciting,” Ron muttered, irritated at the interruption.

“The ‘we’ was meant to be plural,” she leaned a hip on the edge of the counter.

“Missing the club scene?” he asked, looking up at her, noticing a box in her hands.

“God, no.  Draco and Pansy had to drag me out, usually.  I only went to keep up appearances and keep an eye on people,” she shrugged, “I’m quite boring, actually.  I’d much rather curl up on the couch with a book.”

Unbidden, the image of him cuddling up with Hermione on the sofa rose in his mind.   _ Stop that! _ He commanded his subconscious. 

“Well, I’m glad you’re not all bored to tears here, then.”

“With you, Harry, and Ginny for company, that hardly seems possible,” she smiled at the floor and refused to meet his eyes for a second, “I did actually come in here for a reason, though, not just to disturb you.  I got you something today. Everyone else was on a buying spree, and I hated that you were left out since you were being Mr. Responsible and going to work.” She handed him the box. He opened it to find a burgundy shirt with light blue short sleeves inside.

“Aston Villa,” he read off the crest on the front and turned confused eyes in her direction.

“It’s a Muggle football club.  Think of it like Quidditch on the ground.  I thought of you when I saw it. Their mascot is a lion and their colors are burgundy, gold, and blue.  Almost Gryffindor. And their motto is ‘prepared.’ If that doesn’t sound like your house, I don’t know what does.”

She bought him a present.  It wasn’t Christmas, it wasn’t his birthday.  She had simply been out and thinking about him and bought him something.  Something that actually had some kind of correlation to his life and personality.  An honest to God, “to give is better than to receive,” present. He was speechless.

“Thank you,” he said after what seemed like an eternity and his upbringing demanded he say something.

“You’re welcome,” she smiled back.  She turned to leave the kitchen.

“Wait!” Ron was calling as he rose from his chair.  He reached her in about two steps and spent a millisecond looking into her confused eyes before closing his, leaning in, and kissing her on the mouth.  Hermione closed her eyes, wrapped her arms around his neck, and held on for dear life. It had been a  _ very _ long time since anyone had kissed her and this was…this was…

Indescribable.

Ron was kissing her.   _ Ron _ was kissing  _ her _ .  Ron was kissing her with increasing intensity and pushing his body into hers.  She was trapped between him and the counter. Frustrated with their position, Ron lifted her, sat her on the countertop, and used his hands to wrap her legs around his waist.  The new position set off warning bells in her head that Hermione could no longer ignore. She pulled her mouth away and rested her forehead against his, panting.

“Wow,” he said, finally regaining something of logical thought.  Hermione couldn’t look at him, so she buried her face in his neck.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, running soothing hands up and down her back.

She couldn’t answer, just tightened her arms around him. 

She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think.   _Take_ _it back, take it back, take it back!_

“Talk to me.”

“I can’t,” she squeaked, pushing her face further into the crook of his neck.

“I’m wondering if I should apologize or not.  I don’t really want to, but I can’t help but think that it would fix everything if I did.”

“It won’t,” she answered quickly, pulling away finally and kicking herself as she watched his face fall, “I mean, there’s nothing to apologize for.  It was just…”

“Intense.”

“Yes.  I wasn’t ready for that.  For that much…erm…I don’t know.”

“It’s ok.  I wasn’t ready for it either.  I guess that’s why things spun out of control so quickly.”  Now it was Hermione’s turn to get disillusioned.  _ Dammit _ .  He should have anticipated this, given what he knew of her previous experience.  She was a damn minefield. 

“Hey, look at me,” he waited until she was facing him, “I don’t regret kissing you.  I don’t regret that it got so intense. I just worry that you were…erm…shocked and disgusted by it.”  She was looking better now, this was good. Maybe a little embarrassed.

“I definitely wasn’t disgusted by it,” she admitted sheepishly.

“Well, that’s good,” Ron teased.

“I’m just glad I didn’t get you a car or something, who knows what might have happened?”

“I can’t be held accountable for my actions in that case.”

“So, no car then.”

“Good,” he put soft eyes on her and turned serious, “I didn’t just kiss you because of the shirt, though.”

“Oh.”

“Well, it was the reasons behind the shirt.  I really like you, probably more than is wise.”  Hermione just looked at him. He really wanted to  _ read _ her, but he knew that she would never forgive such an invasion of her privacy given how vulnerable she was right now.  “How do you feel about me?”

_ I love you _ .  The words popped into her mind without her permission.   _ Dammit.  This was a bad idea,  _ **_such_ ** _ a bad idea. _

“I don’t know,” she finally answered quietly.

“Ok, do you like me, at least a little bit?”

“Yes,” she smiled at the floor again, “I like you at least a little bit.”

“Good, that’s good,” in for a penny, in for a pound.  He took a deep breath, “I want you to stay with me tonight.”  She immediately looked panicky. 

“Not for sex!” he said quickly, desperate to calm her down, “I’m not ready for the sex yet.  I mean…if you insisted…” the appalled look on her face was disheartening, this was not going well, “I just…I just want you near me.  Clothes will stay on! I will  _ mostly _ keep my hands to myself, I promise.  I just, I just want to try it out. And the bed is way more comfortable than the couch.  I know that first hand.” She was just staring at him.  _ Great _ .

“I am not going to just be someone’s replacement,” she said coldly.

“What?”

“I know that you and Brown just broke up after going out for a very long time.  How do I know that you aren’t asking me this because you just miss having somebody to sleep next to?  I’m not going to be glamouring my hair blonde anytime soon.”

“Wait a minute, first of all, Lavender and I never slept together, as in went to sleep and woke up together.  Second of all, do you really think that I need to force you to be something you’re not? For what reason, convenience?  It’s a whole lot more convenient to just go to a pub and pick someone up.”

“You never slept with Lavender?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I never wanted to,” Ron blurted out.  Again, she was just looking at him, “so?”

“Ok.”

“Ok?”

“Yeah, let’s do this.”   _ What’s the worst that could happen? _


	11. In For A Penny, In For A Pound

_ What the fuck was  _ **_she_ ** _ doing here? _

She had some nerve, that was for sure.  Barging into his house, uninvited. He hoped Hermione blasted her to Norway.  It would serve the stupid bint right. She never could tell when and where she wasn’t wanted.

He had been having a semi-decent day at work.  Neville had called out; apparently Luna was under the impression that the birth of their child was imminent.  Ron hoped that she was right. He didn’t want Neville out for days on end, lolling about on the couch with his wife’s feet in his lap when there was real work to be done.

And Ron was  _ absolutely not _ jealous.  Not one little bit.

And he  _ never _ pictured himself in Neville’s position, with Hermione’s swollen feet in his lap, a bowl of chocolates between them as they listened to the Wizarding Wireless.

_ Of course not. _

In any case, he had been having a semi-decent day at work until warning bells started to come from Hermione.  His immediate reaction was to apparate home immediately, but after the initial shock, Hermione calmed down and seemed highly amused by the whole affair, whatever it was.

_ What’s going on? _

__ __ _ Nothing.  Everything’s fine. _

__ __ _ It certainly doesn’t feel fine. _

__ __ _ You worry too much.  Relax. _

__ __ _ Yeah, right. _  Fifteen minutes later, his lunch break began and Ron was home in a shot.  The sight he beheld upon entering the flat from the roof was infuriating.

Lavender was in his home.  Fucking  _ Lavender _ .

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, casually leaning against the doorframe in the portal to his bedroom, the bedroom he had been sharing with Hermione for three weeks.  His voice startled her, interrupting her hunt through dresser drawers.

“I’m looking for something.”  She turned away from him again.

“I can see that, dear.  What are you looking for?”

“My earrings.”

“Why do you bother to lie when you know I can see right through you?  I really didn’t believe you were this stupid. There is nothing of yours here.”

“Well, this certainly doesn’t belong to me,” she spat, turning to face him with a black lace bra dangling from the pointer finger of her right hand.  Ron’s mouth curved into a satisfied smile.

“No, it certainly doesn’t.”

“Well, what is it doing here?”

“I don’t really see how that’s any of your business.  What are  _ you _ doing here?”  The actress in her was jump started.  She dropped the bra on the floor and looked up at him with giant puppy-dog eyes.   _ Oh for the love of Merlin, she was  _ **_not_ ** _ going to try this again… _

“I missed you and I wanted to come by to talk to you; try to work things out.”   _ Great, she was.  Fantastic. _

“You want to try to work things out?” he asked in disbelief, obviously the wrong response.  Thinking she was making progress, Lavender inched closer to him.

“Of course.  I love you, Ron.”  He gagged, or was that someone else’s response?  His eyes darted to the corner.  _ Well, that answers that question. _

“You love me so much that your broke into my home in the middle of the day, when you knew I wouldn’t be here, and started rifling through what’s inside?”  Realizing that she wasn’t going to get to him with pouty lips and sad expression, the anger mask was put back on.

“I was going to make you dinner while you were at work.  I needed to stop by first and see what you had so that I didn’t buy duplicate stuff.”

“Well, you can take yourself off.  I really am not interested in getting trichinosis.  Besides,” he continued smugly, “ _ I _ already have plans this evening.”

“With HER you mean?”  Ron refused to say anything, instead allowing the lost, satisfied expression on his face to do the talking.  Lavender screeched and stamped her foot like a three year old. “Well, fine, you amuse yourself with your flat whore of a girlfriend!”

“I find her curves to be just delightful,” Ron replied jovially before turning dead serious eyes on his ex, “and the only whore here is you.”  She just stared at him in disbelief that he had insulted her that way. She sucked breath into her chest, but did not respond. Instead, she began walking towards the door.

“Oh, wait a minute, Lavender.  You dropped that,” Ron turned a lazy finger to the bra on the floor, “you’re going to need to pick it up and put it away.”

For a moment she just continued to stare at him, waging a silent battle of wills.  But Ron was much better at this game and held her gaze. After a while, realizing she had been beaten, Lavender silently stooped to the ground, picked up the bra, threw it back in the drawer, violently shut it, and stalked past him.  He wouldn’t even look at her as she went to the roof door, and, slamming it behind her, made her dramatic exit.

“Ok, you two, she’s gone.  You can come out now,” he turned from his spot in the doorway to look at the corner, where a shimmer revealed Harry and Hermione sitting with a bowl of popcorn.

“Well, that was quite a show,” Harry said happily, shoving more of the snack into his mouth.

Hermione said nothing, merely went into the bedroom to refold her underwear and place it neatly back in the drawer.

“I feel as though I should re-wash all of this, after she touched it,” she said casually, not looking up as Ron approached and put his hand on hers.

“Are you ok?”  She finally looked up at him.

“Of course,” she lied, forcing herself to smile so that he wouldn’t suspect anything.

“What happened?”

“Well, she nearly got herself killed.  It’s a good thing Harry noticed the doorknob turning before I did.  He tried to push me under the bed when he realized someone was coming in from an unusual direction.  I walked to the corner and peeked around to see who it was. I couldn’t believe it was her. I figured that whatever she was up to would be interesting, so I tugged Harry to a central location, disillusioned us, and conjured some popcorn.”

“What was she looking for?”

“Dunno, but she seemed particularly interested in your room.  Looking through the closet and drawers and things.”

“Hmm…probably because she was never given free reign in there.”

“Yes, well,” Hermione decided not to dwell on the side comment and forged ahead, “she was having the time of her life until she got to the drawers with my things in them.  Honestly, I thought Crabbe and Goyle had dirty mouths, but she could give them lessons.” Ron chuckled softly.

“She certainly maintains an aura of ladylike decorum in all situations.”

“She didn’t see us, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about; I’m worried about you.”

“Me?!  Why me?”

“It was unexpected for her to show up like that…you know, the old girlfriend getting into the new girlfriend’s face…”  Hermione snorted.

“Oh please, like I would worry about going head to head with that… _ blonde _ .  I could probably make her cry and wet her pants just by looking at her funny,” the rest of what Ron had said caught up to her and she grew very still.  Turning to look at him, she said, “is that what I am, the ‘new girlfriend’?”

“Well, that’s what I think you are.”  He held her gaze.

“Oh,” she turned back to what she was doing so that he wouldn’t see the huge smile battling to get dominance of her face.

****

TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLT

****

Three weeks of physical training had Harry in pretty good condition.  Hermione ran two miles with him every morning and spent the rest of the day doing yoga and tae bo.  However, what she really needed to start working on with him was magical instruction. Which meant he needed a wand.  Which meant a trip to Diagon Alley.

Once again Harry found himself strapped into the back seat of Hermione’s car.  He had noticed over the past couple of weeks that Hermione had been babying him less and less.  A part of him, the part that recognized his age, he supposed, was glad of it. Another part liked having her constant attention. 

He wasn’t too thrilled about being in the back seat either.  He wanted to sit in the front. He could see better in the front.  But the man, Ron, he remembered the name now, got to sit there, “because he was taller.”  Well, he might be  _ slightly _ taller, Harry bristled, but he couldn’t help but think that there was another reason why Ron got to sit in the front, next to Hermione.

Overall, though, he wasn’t complaining.  Hermione had declared the night before, when announcing this little field trip, that she absolutely needed Ginny’s help in getting Harry properly outfitted.  So even though he wasn’t in the front seat, he was content, because Ginny was strapped into the seat next to him.

He remembered all her names now.  Hermione often called her “Ginevra,” which was her full name, much like “Henry” was his.  Ron called her “Ginny,” the familial nickname and one which she seemed more comfortable with than “Ginevra.”  Maybe she was only called that when she was in trouble. If he rattled his brain, he could occasionally hear his mother’s voice scolding him.  “Henry James Potter,” it always began and the imagery he got usually involved some sort of broken object, like a vase or a picture frame. Yes, if Ginny’s mum was anything like his own, she was probably only called the longer name on rare occasions.  Except for when Hermione was around.

But neither seemed to suit her.  He wanted to call her something else.  He wanted a name for her that was all his own.  He thought on it and thought on it and thought on it.  What immediately came to mind when he thought of her?  _ Red _ .  But he didn’t really think that was a suitable name.   _ Fire _ ?  Hmm…that wouldn’t really do either.  Ginerva, Ginny, Gin…

_ Wait! _

He knew that word.  Gin. It was some… _ thing _ .  Something you drink.  Well, not something he drank, specifically.  But he remembered his father and uncles lounging late in to the night on occasion.  They would be drinking something…something called alcohol…and one of the alcohols was called “Gin.”

And alcohol did something to you.  It made you crazy, it made you talk funny.  It made everything else blurry.

_ Yes.  That would work _ .  “Gin” was something that made you different, and that was just what she did to him.  He felt  _ weird _ whenever she was around.  And she was around a lot. She was often over helping Hermione with what they called his “training.”  She hung out at night when Ron got home from work.

He would catch himself staring at her.  She made his heart beat faster and his mouth water.   _ That had to be like what alcohol did to you, right? _  Harry didn’t understand why he didn’t feel anything like that about Hermione.  Although, sometimes, he was able to catch Ron looking at her. He wondered if that’s how he looked when he was thinking about “Gin.”  Maybe Ron could tell him why he felt the way he did. 

All Harry had to do was work up the guts to ask him about it.

****

TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLT

****

They had  _ finally _ unloaded Harry and Ginny, sending them off to Quality Quidditch Supply so that they could look at some brooms.  Apparently, Harry was starting to remember things from his upbringing, and Quidditch was one of those things.

Normally, Ron would have been right there beside them, testing out the brooms, feeling the weight, asking questions.  But he was a little surprised to discover that he was actually happier where he was at that moment. He strolled down the road with Hermione’s hand held securely in his own, just walking together, out somewhere.  He hadn’t been able to take her out anywhere. She had basically been trapped in his house since she had arrived a month before.

So he held her hand and walked along, happy to be out with her.

The joy was only somewhat diminished by the fact that it wasn’t really her.

_ Ok, ok _ , so it was Hermione, but it was glamoured Hermione.  He knew that it was still her underneath, but when he turned to look at her, blue eyes looked back, not brown.  He wanted those brown eyes. But it wasn’t safe. They were both too easily recognized. What would people say if they saw Ron Weasley, Gryffindor Super-Auror, enjoying a romantic ramble with Death Eater Think Tank, Hermione Granger?  It would turn their entire world on its ear, not to mention bring about unwanted attention to their activities. Activities which weren’t ready to be revealed to the world at large yet. A troubling thought took root in his head.

_ Would that ever change? _

Would he ever be able to bring unglamoured, House of Slytherin Hermione Granger home to the Burrow for a family dinner?

Would she ever be able to drop by his office to bring him a special lunch without being thrown into a holding cell on first sight?

It was heartbreaking.  Shaking his head to clear it of the dark ideas, he squeezed her hand a little harder.  When this was all over, when they won and Voldemort was defeated, it wouldn’t matter. Because then, everyone would know what she had done.  And they would see her for what she truly was: a hero.

He tugged on her hand to draw her closer, throwing an arm over her shoulder to hold her near as they continued to walk.  He was about to suggest some ice cream when a sudden awareness seized him. He stopped walking.

“Ron?  What is it?” Hermione asked warily, feeling for her wand.  A slow, sly smile spread across his face.

“Lavender is over there.”

“So?”

“Well, I am getting the urge to have a very public display of affection with my beautiful new girlfriend on those picnic benches over there.”

“Oh, now that is just  _ evil _ ,” the side of Hermione’s mouth curled up, “I am so hot for you right now.”

****

TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLT

****

He sat on the bench as he held Hermione in her spot before him on the table.  She had her arms wrapped around his neck and was kissing him for all she was worth.  Ron meanwhile was trying very hard to get his hands to behave themselves and not wander like they desperately wanted to.   _ Time to kick it up a notch. _

_ Now, now, Mione _ , he teased her silently,  _ what kind of kiss is that?  Needs more tongue _ .

Hermione choked on her laughter and pulled away from him for a moment to catch her breath.  She caught the challenge in his eyes and drove back in with renewed force.

_ That’s more like it. _

__ __ _ Is she looking? _

__ __ _ Yeah, of course. _  He was a dirty liar.  Lavender had seen their display and left immediately afterward.  That had been about ten minutes before. Not that he was about to let Hermione know that.  He just had to keep distracting her, which wasn’t exactly a bad job.

_ Is she getting upset? _

__ __ _ Sure she is.  She’s crying into her chips. _  It was becoming very difficult to not drag her off the table and more firmly into his lap.  Maybe distracting her hadn’t been such a great idea.

_ Good _ .  That stopped him

“Good?  What do you mean good?”

“I am just happy that she’s suffering.  She deserves it,” Hermione seemed very sure of herself.

“Oh really?  And just what did she do to deserve very public humiliation?”  Now she wouldn’t look at him. “What do you know?”

Hermione kept turning her head to avoid his eyes.

“Hermione, tell me.”

“Do we have to talk about this now?”

“Why not now?”   _ why not, indeed? _ his libido was screaming at him and agreeing with her, “now is always the best time.” 

She was too worked up to think clearly.  Jesus, it was a good thing she had never had a boyfriend before.  How was she supposed to function if she got all drunk and loopy from a few kisses?   _ Or maybe it was just his kisses… _

“Hermione!” she jolted at his tone.

“I just…” she whimpered and looked away, “she cheated on you, ok?  Is that what you want to know? You didn’t do anything to deserve it, and she just cheated on you anyway.”

“What are you talking about?  Who did she cheat on me with?”  Hermione wouldn’t say anything and maintained her policy of not looking at him.

“Malfoy!  It was Malfoy, wasn’t it?!” he all but screamed.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to  _ read _ me without my permission?!”

“I can’t help it when you are all but screaming it at me mentally,” he took a deep and put his head on her shoulder, “what happened?”

“She cheated on you, do I have to spell it out?”

“There’s more to the story than that.  Spill.” Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes.

“You…you touched my hair once.”

“I did what?”

“During 7 th year.  We were going over the prefects schedule and a hank of hair fell into my face.  You pushed it back behind my ear,” she took a breath, “I guess I was a bit moony-eyed over the whole thing and Draco got upset.  You already know how protective he was over me where boys were concerned. I was going up to his room one day and accidentally bumped into Lavender who was trying to sneak out unnoticed.  When I asked him about it, he said that he shagged her. When I asked why he had done that, he said that he didn’t want you near enough to touch me, and that having to deal with Lavender’s betrayal would keep you occupied.  He said that the two of them had struck a deal. She was going to keep you distracted and he was going to keep an eye on me. Apparently, Lavender hadn’t liked the fact that you touched me either.”

He had no recollection of this event.  He touched her hair, and it caused his stupid slag of a girlfriend to go and cheat on him because of it.   _ What a whore! _

He wished he could say that it he hadn’t known that Lavender cheated on him.  He wished he could say that it had been the first time. Or even the last time it had happened.  But it hadn’t. Lavender, it seemed, enjoyed being  _ very _ popular.  What did it say about him that her activities hadn’t even bothered him all that much?

But there was still another layer of the story.

“All that hurt, simply because I did this?” he asked, pushing a lock of Hermione’s now black hair behind her left ear.

“Well, I wasn’t exactly used to being touched all the time, you know.  It threw me off.”

“It threw you off enough to remember it ten years later?”

“Oh come off it, you know that all the girls drooled over you,” she crossed her arms over her chest, “why should I be any different?  It was just a crush; everyone had one.”

_ She had crushed on him, had she?  Well, that was interesting.  _

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Oh, and exactly what was I supposed to say, ‘oh Ron, please, when you look at me, really see who I am.  See that I’m not just some one-dimensional, brainy, know-it-all. See past the fact that our houses are at odds.  See that I’m just a relatively nice girl who likes you because you are a relatively nice boy?’ I can see  _ that _ going over well.”  She huffed and looked away from him again.

There was truth in that statement.  He could feel it coming off her in waves.  How many times had she secretly said that to him, and he just hadn’t been paying attention?  How many times had he ignored her because he did just as she said, saw her as a one-dimensional, brainy, know-it-all from Slytherin?  What would have happened if he had just looked past the end of his nose for once? Would she have come over to their side? With her intelligence and talent, would the war be over already?

He leaned forward and kissed her again, trying without words to express emotions he couldn’t name.  The things she did to him. He couldn’t even begin to figure them out. She turned his entire world upside down, and shockingly, he liked it.  What would he do if after this business with Harry was over, she turned and walked away from him?

He refused to accept that, and the kissing became more intense.  His brain was screaming at him to slow down, but his heart, spurred on by the happy little sounds she was making, was already contemplating grabbing her and apparating back to his flat, the plan to meet up with Harry and Ginny be damned.  And he would have gotten away with it too…

“Ahem.”

…if it hadn’t been for his meddling brother.

Reluctantly, Ron pulled away from a practically panting Hermione to look beyond her shoulder and see his brother, Fred, smiling smugly at him.

“What do you want?” he asked crossly, continuing to hold Hermione in place so that she wouldn’t turn to look behind her.

“And I was wondering why Ginny was being so shirty about what you were doing.  Not at all like her. Maybe that Neanderthal following her around was throwing off her game.”

“He’s not a Neanderthal,” Hermione snapped, turning to face Fred, “Oh.”

“Uh, this is Fred, one of my brothers that I was telling you about,” Ron jumped in before the fact that Hermione was recognizing Fred started to sink in to the new arrival.  Hermione swung around and hopped off the table.

“Hi,” she said, shaking his hand as Fred gaped at her, “Diana Prince, it’s a pleasure.”

“I’ll bet.  So you’re the one who’s helping our Ronnie here heal his poor broken heart,” he smiled charmingly at her, “looks like you’re doing an excellent job.”

“Well, I do try,” she replied coyly.

“What do you want, Fred?” Ron asked, still peeved that they had been interrupted.

“Just wanted to say ‘halloo.’  Like I said, Ginny was being weird, so I took it upon myself to investigate.”

“Leaving George to keep her busy.”

“Well, it’s just as well you came by,” Hermione walked over and took Ron’s hand once more, “it’s about time we met up with your sister, Ron.  Nice to meet you, Fred.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you,” he replied, watching as the pair walked away.   _ Now where had Ron dug up a luscious piece like that? _


	12. Family Tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You wanna get nuts? Let's get nuts!

Ron always thought Luna had a bit of The Sight.  Either that or she just knew her body really well.  In any case, a few evenings after the trip to Diagon Alley found Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny “oohing” and “aahing” at the newest edition to the Longbottom household.

She really was a beautiful child, with Luna’s eyes and Neville’s hair and nose.  Seras Victoria already responded to her father’s voice, eyes looking around the room until she saw him whenever she heard him speak.  Harry, Ginny, and Hermione took turns holding her on the couch. Ron begged off, saying he was worried he had a cold and didn’t want the little one to get sick.

The truth was that he had such a pang in his stomach when he saw Hermione holding the baby that he could barely breathe.  It was entirely too easy to see red hair on the child’s head, instead of the Longbottom black. It hurt just to look at them.

The fact that Hermione took to the infant like a fish to water, all while claiming not to be “maternal,” didn’t help the situation.

Not able to stand anymore, he left the room and headed out onto the patio in the yard, hoping the cold autumn air would clear his head.  He sat down on one of the outdoor metal chairs and tilted his head back to rest, closing his eyes.

“You could cast a warming charm out here,” he heard a voice say a few moments later.  He wouldn’t open his eyes, but he felt her move closer and stand behind him.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, fingers reaching up to comb through his hair and massage his scalp.  Sweet Merlin, he loved when she did that.

“What makes you think that there’s something the matter?” he finally responded, beginning to relax under her ministrations.

“You aren’t at all yourself tonight.  Do you not like children?” she asked conversationally.

“I like children fine.  I think I’m coming down with something.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing you came outside into the cold.  Best way to fight off a sickness, you know, lollygagging about in the frosty air,” Hermione tugged lightly on his bangs until he would look at her, “why don’t you tell me what’s really going on in that head of yours?”  Ron sighed and sat up. She walked around to the front of the chair to face him, leaning up against the table.

“You’re going to be disappointed in me,” he lamented, still evading.

“Somehow I doubt it.”   _ Damn but she was tenacious _ .

“I just…it’s that…I’m…well…jealous.”

“You’re jealous of Neville?”

“Yeah,” he did not sound happy to be admitting this.

“I could think of a thousand reasons why…”

“Oh, well, thanks,” he muttered, interrupting.

“Shush!  As  _ I _ can think of all these reasons, it would save time if you would just tell me why  _ you _ are jealous of Neville.”

“Because why does he get to have what I’ve always wanted?” Ron answered very quietly.  Hermione didn’t say anything, understanding that he needed to say these things, and needed to say them to her, since she wouldn’t belittle his reasons or give him grief over them.  “I’ve always wanted a family. I always wanted the little house, with the wife, and the kids, and the dog. When I was a young I wanted to be famous, but this dream was always there too.  And I’ve worked for 16 years to keep the world safe for people to get married and have families. That’s most of my life. I’m starting to get tired. It feels like I am the one who is being asked to sacrifice so much and I can’t even get the little things.  Everyone expects me to be noble all the time. To be selfless and heroic. It’s as though I’m not allowed to want anything for myself. As though I have no life other than what I can do for other people. It gets rather draining after a time.”

Hermione hadn’t said anything during his whole speech.  When he was done, she stepped forward and curled her arms around his head.  Because of their positions, his face was snuggled into her stomach as he threw his arms around her waist.  One of Hermione’s hands returned to his hair.

“I think that it’s only fair that you want those things,” she said finally, “and I think it’s understandable that you are getting tired.  It’s not easy when people see you as being only an icon, is it?”

“No,” he said, snuggling closer like an unhappy child.

“If you really want these things: the wife, the family, et cetera, you’ll have them,” she comforted, hand getting thrown off when he turned his face up to look at her.

“Do you really think so?” he asked, willing to believe anything she said at the moment.

“Of course,” she replied.  They just stared at each other for a time, Hermione starting to feel convinced that any second Ron was going to rise from the chair and kiss her.

The moment was interrupted, however, when Neville came out to join his guests on the patio.

“Sorry for intruding, but Hermione, Ginny is asking for your help with something,” Neville said as he and Harry stepped out of the warmth of the house.

“Of course,” she turned to Ron, “please excuse me.”

The two men made their way closer to where Ron was sitting as Hermione entered the house.

“Oh Jesus, are you in deep,” Neville said, flopping down into another of the outdoor chairs.  Harry took one of the other side of Ron.

“Don’t start with me,” Ron said, head in his hands, refusing to look at his friend.

“You should have carted her off to Azkaban the day she walked into HQ.”

“I told you not to start,” Ron sighed and sat back, “besides, we never would have made this much progress if she was all the bloody way up there.”

“What kind of  _ progress _ are you referring to?” Neville asked cheekily, earning himself a death glare.

“Shut it.  You know what I’m talking about.”

“So when did getting caught up in her charms enter the equation?”

“She doesn’t have any charms.  I’m not caught up in anything,” he turned to look at Neville, “besides, I’m not the one who was drooling all over his robes when I should have been interrogating a suspect.”  Neville put his hands up in surrender.

“Ok, you got me.  But I’m not the one who’s shacked up with the enemy.”

“She’s not the enemy.”

“You don’t talk about Hermione that way!” Harry cried.

“So he speaks…” Neville seemed unconcerned with Harry’s outburst, which was unfortunate, as it spurred Harry to leap out of his chair and point his newly acquired wand at Neville’s chest.

“Harry, calm down,” Ron said, reaching over to shove Harry’s wand away, “and I would be more worried, if I were you, Nev, Hermione’s been teaching him all sorts of hazardous things.”

“Brilliant,” Neville rolled his eyes, “I apologize, Harry.  But you didn’t grow up with her like we did. Old grudges die hard.”

“What did she ever do to you?” Harry asked, as he stalked back to his chair.

“Nothing, actually, but her friends did plenty.”

“You’ll have to forgive him,” Ron said, “Hermione’s been feeding him some sort of Muggle stuff to make his muscles grow.  Makes him a bit touchy. Plus he’s very protective of her.” Harry sat down, arms across his chest, huge frown on his face.

“You two looked like the cover of a romance novel out here, all ‘stars in the eyes’ and everything,” Neville said after a brief lull, “how far in are you?”

Ron wouldn’t answer.

“They sleep in the same room,” Harry blurted suddenly.  Ron and Neville turned to look at him, differing expressions of shock and irritation decorating their features.

“Oh, do they?”

“Harry, stop helping.”

“Look, I understand that you are on the rebound and all, but did you really need to get this self-destructive?” Neville asked, a look of genuine concern on his face.

“I am  _ not _ on the rebound.”

“Oh, really?  Did you, or did you not just end a very long term relationship?”

“Yes, but we were  _ always _ ending that relationship.”

“Well, you’ve never just jumped the bones of the next girl to pass by before.  There’s something going on with you.”

“Look, Hermione and I are not shagging.  Yes, we share a room, not that it is any of your business,” Ron eyes shot from Neville to Harry, giving him another dirty look, “but this isn’t some girl that I am falling for because I miss Lavender or I miss being in a relationship.  I have no idea where this thing with Hermione came from. But it’s there and it’s good, and I am not giving it up.”

“Ok, ok, don’t get all worked up over it.  Just…” Neville paused here for dramatic effect, “how are you so sure it’s good?”

“Because I know.”

“This could all be a ruse, you know,” he pressed on when Ron began to shake his head, “she’s smart, she could be feeding you all sorts of untrue information.”

“Nobody is that smart.  And she knew about the prophecy.  Everything she said about it was true.  Her plan is solid, once you get past all that’s standing in the way of it.  This seems pretty elaborate for some kind of Deatheater shenanigans.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

“You could be under a spell.”

“I’ve thought of that, believe me.”

“Because you never looked at Lavender the way you look at her.”

“I know.”

“Why did you break up with her?” Harry asked suddenly, quietly, unsure if he was allowed to participate.

At first Ron and Neville just looked at him.  Then Ron shrugged and proceeded to spill his guts.

“I’m getting old.  A good number of the people my age are getting married, settling down, starting families.  I started to evaluate my life. She wasn’t even that big of a part of it. After ten years of dating, she wasn’t a big part of my life.  What does that tell you? I realized that I just didn’t care about her. I would shag her, sure, but we never talked about anything, I had no connection to her.  How could I start a family with someone I had no affection for? Plus, she cheated on me constantly. And the fact that that had never bothered me before started to bother me.”

“You suddenly cared that she was cheating?” asked Neville, astounded.  Having been there from the beginning, he was privy to basically all the details of Ron and Lavender’s relationship; more so even than Ginny.

“I suddenly cared that I  _ didn’t _ care.  What the hell is that?  Your girl is sleeping with anything with a nob and you don’t even care?  That’s just messed up. So I told her to sod off. I’d rather be alone than with someone that I didn’t care about at all.”

“And then Hermione came,” Harry supplied.  He was starting to like this story.

“And then Hermione came,” Ron concurred with a defeated voice.

“Let me ask you this,” Neville asked after a few moments of contemplation, “how would you feel if you found out Hermione was cheating on you?”  Ron’s expression turned positively murderous and he clenched his fist so strongly his fingernails drew blood in his palms.

“That’s what I thought,” Neville continued, “Shite, we are in a lot of trouble here.”

****

TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLT

****

“Did you bring me those books I asked for?” Hermione asked over her shoulder as Ron entered the flat from the roof, “No, Harry, swish and flick.  Like this.”

“Yeah, I got them,” he answered, walking forward so that Hermione could give him his “welcome home” kiss, “almost got hexed into oblivion, but the key word is  _ almost _ .”

“Oh stop being so dramatic, I sent you to Knockturn Alley, not Baghdad,” Hermione turned away from where Harry was levitating things to peruse the items, “Yes, these will do quite well.  Thanks.” The last part was said with a warm, shining smile. Ron knew that look; that was  _ his _ smile.  Once again he found himself pondering what their relationship would be like if they weren’t babysitting the savior of the free world every hour of the day.

“Whatcha got there?” Harry asked, becoming bored with his practice.  Besides, things usually slowed down for him after Ron got home. If Hermione was going to be preoccupied, as the books gave a pretty good indication, perhaps Ron would tutor Harry some more on Wizard’s Chess.  He had played a bit as a child, but was grossly out of practice.  _ Just like with everything. _

“Some dark arts books that I need for researching what spell you should use on our friend, Tom.  And some history books. He was missing from written record for a good amount of time. I’m trying to piece together exactly what he was doing.”

“Why do you want to know that?”

“Because, my darling, I am trying to figure out where he may have hidden the last Horcrux.”

Ron and Hermione had explained the horcruxes to Harry already.  Ron had spent most of his sixth year at Hogwarts working with Dumbledore to destroy one of them: a ring belonging to Voldemort’s grandfather.  Ron had also destroyed the diary horcrux when he saved Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets during his second year.

Hermione brought with her the location of 4 of the other items.  The Slytherin Artifact was kept in the vault at Malfoy Manor, destined to grace the neck of Draco’s wife.  Nagini, Voldemort’s familiar, was with him at all times at his lair in Whitby. The Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw Artifacts were also kept in Whitby, in a vault that, conveniently, only Hermione knew the combination to.  One of her early responsibilities had been creating the locks and protection spells around the vault.

But one was still missing.

The Gryffindor Artifact could be anything, but it was definitely not in Whitby or at the Manor.  Hermione was convinced that Voldemort, being the paranoid psychotic that he was, would have hidden it away somewhere very clever.  She just needed to figure out where.

Hermione spent the entire evening pouring over books.  She nibbled on something that was on the plate Ron put before her, but other than that, paid no attention to what was going on around her. 

_ In the 1970s, he makes another appearance at Hogwarts.  He graduated in the early 1940s. Where was he in the meantime?  He had to have constructed the Horcruxes in that thirty year window as Dumbledore’s memoirs note how serpentine he looked when he came trolling for a job.  Would he have left England? Hmm…a good thought, but he is such an Anglophile, I really can’t see him going anywhere else… _

“Hey, this place looks nice, where is that?”

Harry’s question jolted Hermione back into the here and now.  She looked over at the book.

“Oh, that’s Kent, Harry.  That’s near where I grew up.  Whatever is it doing in that book?”

“It says, ‘for a good portion of the mid-20 th century, the exact whereabouts of the Dark Lord are unknown.  However, Unspeakables from the Ministry of Magic did make several trips to this area, east of London, investigating reports of dark magic in Muggle residential neighborhoods.  The Ministry representatives were called in on seven separate occasions. By 1958, the reports of dark magic in the area had ceased. All of the reports were concentrated in Tunbridge Wells.’” Harry read from the book.

“Tunrbidge Wells?  That’s my hometown.  Harry, let me see that,” Hermione took the book from his hands.  1958. That was when her grandfather had died. Her mother hardly remembered him, as she was only 7 years old at the time.  Her grandmother never spoke of him, except once, shortly before Hermione boarded the Hogwarts Express for the first time.

_ “I have something for you, dear,” Grammy had said, digging through dusty boxes in the attic in the stifling August heat, “Your grandfather told me that if any of our family was to ever go away to a  _ special _ school, I was to make sure that I gave it to them.”  Her arthritic hands dug into a box and pulled out a long silver chain with an ornate pendant on the end.  She placed the necklace in 11 year old Hermione’s outstretched palms and closed her fingers over it. It felt warm to Hermione, almost as though it was throbbing with power. _

_ “Now, you must keep it with you always.  You must never take it off,” Grammy turned brown eyes on the little girl, “you promise?” _

_ “Of course, Grammy,” Hermione replied, thrilled at being given the responsibility over the family heirloom.  She opened her fingers and peered at the jewelry. There was something written on it in a strange language. “Grammy, what does this mean?” _

_ “Well, I don’t know, luv.  That is from your grandfather’s people.  You will just have to learn all you can at school so that you can figure it out for yourself.”  Grammy smiled at her and patted her curly head. _

Hermione stopped reading and stared into space for a moment.  Her right hand went to the pendant that had rested on her chest since that day.   _ By courage not craft _ .  She remembered the day when she had finally translated the Latin.

_ No… _

“Mione, what is it?” Ron stood in the kitchen doorway, looking at her with concern.

“Ron, what is the Gryffindor motto?”

“ _ By courage not craft _ .  Why?”

_ No…no…it couldn’t be… _

But there was another memory forcing its way to the surface of her consciousness.  Not too very long ago. She was at the Manor…

_ She had returned home earlier than expected and what a calamity she had interrupted.  Lucius and Narcissa were having a fight. Basically this meant that Lucius was throwing a tantrum and breaking anything porcelain he could get his hands on.  Narcissa tried to stay as still as possible to not attract his attention. Unfortunately he ran out of Lladro sculptures and dragged her out of the chair. Hermione entered the parlor just as he delivered a hard blow to the older woman’s face. _

_ Screaming in outrage, Hermione, forgetting that she had a wand, had launched herself at Lucius, only to be beaten rather severely. _

_ Draco had found her later in her bathroom, tissues stuffed up her nose to stop the bleeding. _

_ “About time you got here,” she said to him as he entered her room, “my healing spells aren’t worth shite right now.  I’m mumbling everything. Think you could help a girl out?” she turned to see the shocked expression on his face. _

_ “What in the hell happened to you?” he could barely get the words out. _

_ “I had a little disagreement with Lucius.  It’s all settled now, don’t worry.” _

_ He still looked worried. _

__ __ _ “ _ **_He_ ** _ did this to you?” _

_ “Well, I sure as hell didn’t do it to myself,” she was getting cranky now.  All she wanted was for him to heal her up so she could take a nap and sleep off her headache.  Did that really require in-depth conversation? _

_ “I will kill him for this.”  Draco spoke so low that Hermione barely heard him. _

__ __ _ “No, you won’t.  You can’t go stepping on the toes of the Dark Lord’s favorite, now can you?” Draco was so daft sometimes.  Did he really think Voldemort would back him if he went toe to toe with Lucius? _

_ “We’ll see about that.”  Draco hastily healed her wounds and turning on his heel, left her in the bedroom. _

_ After cleaning herself up, Hermione ventured down the halls to search for Draco.  It wasn’t her fault that they left the door to the study open. It wasn’t her fault that she could hear them.  Would she be any kind of Slytherin if she didn’t listen in? _

_ “You really are a daft old bastard, aren’t you?” Draco was saying, tumbler of scotch in one hand, “what do you think He will do to you when he finds out about this?” _

__ __ _ “What makes you think that he’s going to find out about this?” came Lucius’ arrogant reply, “she certainly isn’t going to tell anyone.” _

_ “What makes you think  _ **_I_ ** _ won’t?” when he wanted to be, Draco could be just as arrogant. _

__ __ _ “There would be repercussions for betraying me, Draco.  Keep that in mind.” _

__ __ _ Then Draco started laughing. _

__ __ _ “Stop trying to frighten me, old man.  That hasn’t worked since I left for Hogwarts,” he approached his father, “your days of glory are at an end, and I think you know it.  Very soon, He will make his move and sweep aside everyone who stands in our way. And you know what will happen then.” _

__ __ _ There was silence from Lucius. _

_ “You know  _ **_what_ ** _ she is.  You know  _ **_who_ ** _ she is.  That girl is my ticket to ride.  The Dark Lord wants it that way. Everything is coming full circle.  She will be my wife, she will bear my children, and she will love me.  Together, we will usher in a new era for Wizarding Britain. The Malfoy and Slytherin bloodlines together at last.  So do us a favor, keep your hands of Hermione. I don’t want makeup artists needing to spend hours patching her up on the day of our wedding.” _

_ “Then you should tell her to mind her own business.”  Lucius was feeling brave again. _

_ And again Draco felt the need to laugh. _

_ “Do you really think that would phase her?  She too much like Him not to meddle. After all, he’s always listening!” Draco turned dramatically to leave the study.  Hermione had to scramble to get away from the door before he opened it. She spent the rest of the afternoon huddled in a hallway alcove, clutching her pendant and trying to get her heart to stop racing. _

At the time, Hermione had only been concerned over Draco’s declaration of very obvious intentions towards her.  It disturbed her so much that she lost part of the conversation until now.

_ The Malfoy and Slytherin bloodlines together at last. _

__ __ _ No…No…Oh my God, NO! _

She was going to explode.  Violently blind, she pushed away from the table with such force that her chair fell over.  Disregarding Ron and Harry’s shocked yells, she ran for the bathroom, barely making it inside before she vomited her dinner.  She laid her head against the cool rim of the bowl, and let the tears come.

Ron was beside her in a flash, hugging her to him and holding her hair out of her face.

“Hermione, what’s wrong?”

She was so distraught she couldn’t even answer him.   _ What’s wrong?!?!  What’s  _ **_wrong_ ** _?!?!?!  I’m the seed of all that is evil that’s what’s wrong!!!!! _

“What?  Calm down, I can’t understand you.”

_ Oh God, he read that.  He knew everything. Oh God! _

She vomited again. 

_ Calm down _ , he tried mentally, rubbing her back.   _ You don’t have to tell me _ .

Without realizing what she was doing, she sent him the images.

He backed away from her in shock.

“No,” was all he said.

She felt the absence of his body heat like an artic blast against her side.   _This was why she was foolish to get involved with him.  Blaise was right. Was there any_ _other way this would end other than in tragedy?_

_ It doesn’t matter. _  He was back at her side again, cuddling her again.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she spat verbally, “of course it matters!”

“Your parentage doesn’t matter any more than mine does.”  He kissed the top of her head and pulled her into his lap.  Hermione laid an exhausted head against his chest.

“No one will agree with you.”

“I don’t care.  You are more than who your grandparents are…”

“and what house I got sorted into, and who basically raised me once I entered the magical world, and what I’ve done since graduation…” she interrupted him, “so tell me, Ron, what  _ does _ matter?”

“What matters is that despite all those things, you are an incredible and  _ good _ person.”

“No, I’m not.”

“So you keep saying.  But who’s only looking at things one-dimensionally now?  You forget, I can  _ see _ you.  And Hermione Granger is more than just the sum of her parts.”

Harry walked around where Ron and Hermione were seated in the doorway to the bathroom.  He plopped down on the other of Hermione and put a comforting hand on her ankle.

“I don’t think you are bad,” Harry said softly, looking at her with a frown that matched her own.

Hermione  _ really _ wanted to believe that they were right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, 10,000 house points to whoever can figure out where Baby Longbottom's name came from. :)


	13. Stoopid Things

“So you and Harry seem to be getting closer…” Hermione commented innocently as she spooned another bite of custard into her mouth.  Ron really was an amazing cook.

“How close can you get to someone who has been attacked by the darkest wizard of the age, was over-medicated, and spent more than half his life in a mental ward?” Ginny retorted, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was going, “besides, I’m not the one who has to cover ‘love bites’ with concealment charms.”

Hermione blushed at the other woman’s observation.  Since her rather disastrous family tree realization, she had been feeling out of sorts and unlovable.  Ron’s solution to her confusion was to snog her vigorously at any opportunity. What, exactly, he was trying to prove, she didn’t know, but she wasn’t exactly complaining either.  She also didn’t know who he was trying to prove whatever it was to: her or himself. 

Since the night she had become intimately acquainted with the toilet bowl, Ron had been hovering over her constantly.  He would check in on her several times a day while he was at work. He would keep himself within three feet of her when he was home.  It was cute and annoying at the same time. The decision she made as the next step in the plan was met with complete and total disagreement.

_ “What do you mean, you are going back to the Manor?” he had all but screamed. _

__ __ _ “It’s been quite a while now.  Draco is bound to start suspecting something.  I have to go, make a big show of being home and swapping out my laundry, and then leave again.” _

__ __ _ “I don’t like this,” Ron had continued, “I don’t want you to go.” _

_ “So you still don’t trust me, even after all this time?” Hermione had felt her eyes prick up with tears.  That grated. _

_ “It’s not a question of trust,” Ron had continued, not really answering her question, “it’s a question of safety.  You would be walking right into the lions’ den.” _

_ “It’s perfectly safe for me.  Unless I don’t go and suspicions get ignited.” _

He still didn’t like it, but that was just too damn bad.

So here they all were, eating a “farewell dinner,” as it were.  Hermione was set to return to the Manor the following morning. Ginny had been invited over and Hermione had given them some last minute, “just in case” instructions.

_ “His lair in is Whitby.  There are cliffs there. The lair is in the caves beneath the cliffs.  I’ve drawn you a map. The horcruxes are kept in a vault. I’ve left you the combination.  I’ve also left you the spells needed to destroy them. Nagini will be with Voldemort, she never leaves his side unless he has a specific task for her.  You will have to kill her as well.” _

__ __ _ “But we won’t need to do any of that, Hermione, you will be with us,” Harry had declared. _

__ __ _ “Of course I will, luv,” she had  smiled at him indulgently, “this is just in case.” _

“Do you really think that going back is a good idea?” Ginny asked.

“Not particularly, but it beats the alternative,” Hermione considered her custard again, “you will keep an eye on Ron while I’m gone, won’t you?”

“What kind of question is that?” Ginny retorted, “Ron can take care of himself; I would think that you would ask me to keep an eye on Harry.”

“Oh, I don’t  _ have _ to ask you to do that,” Hermione smiled, “I just worry that Ron won’t be patient and will decide to rush in to ‘save the day.’”

“Well, that is what he’s good at.”

“I know; that’s what worries me.”

Across the room, Ron was once again tutoring Harry on his wizard’s chess skills.  Harry was actually doing quite well since Ron couldn’t seem to get his head in the game.  He kept sneaking glances to the sofa where Hermione and Ginny were whispering. He did not like that, not one bit.

And so help him, if Hermione tongued that spoon one more time, he was a dead man.

“Ron?” Harry began quietly.

“Hmm?” Ron replied, turning his face once more to his opponent.

“How do you know…I mean…when do you…”

“Spit it out, Harry,” Ron snapped.

“How do you feel about Hermione?” Harry attacked, upset that Ron snapped at him.   _ Didn’t he understand how difficult this was? _

“How do I feel about Hermione…what?” Ron asked for clarification.

“Well, how do you feel about her, do you love her, hate her, what?” Harry could make things difficult too.

“Oh.”  Ron didn’t say anything for several minutes.  “Honestly, I don’t know.”

“But you do like her.”

“Sure, I like her fine.”

“No, I mean as something more than a friend.”

Ron stared at him.  “Why are you asking me this?”

Harry stared back.  “Just making conversation.”

“No, conversations are about the weather, and quidditch, and politics.  Guys don’t just  _ make conversation _ about their feelings.”

“Well, why not?”

“Merlin, Harry, I don’t know, they just don’t.  Why are you so interested?”

“I’m not,” Harry replied quickly, embarrassed now, “I just have a lot to catch up on.”

“Well, you should stop worrying so much about my feelings and worry more about your king.  Checkmate.” Ron mercilessly instructed his knight to move forward. Satisfied that he had distracted Harry enough to make an exit, Ron quickly rose, grabbed the desert plates that were lying around, and went to the kitchen to begin washing up.

****

TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLT

****

The luxurious sleep he was having was interrupted by a buzzing noise.  He snuggled deeper under the covers to try to make it go away. It wouldn’t.

_ Aah…Hermione must be awake. _

He opened his eyes to see fuzzy early morning sunlight peeking through the window.  Hermione remained motionless beside him.

“While I appreciate the fact that you aren’t moving so you don’t wake me,” Ron drawled, “the damage is already done.  Your brain never switches off, does it?”

She had started when he began speaking, but then relaxed and rolled over to face him.

“No, never,” she smiled at him as he leaned over and kissed her.  The kissing grew more heated as Hermione rolled onto her back and pulled Ron on top of her.  They broke apart a few minutes later to breathe.

“What are you thinking about?” Hermione asked him, placing a hand on either side of his face.  Ron frowned.

“I’m thinking that I am disappointed because this is the last morning for who knows how long that I’ll wake up with you here.”

“I’ll be back soon.”

“How soon?” he whined.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s what you always say,” he dipped forward and began kissing her again, making his way across her cheek and then up and down her neck.

“Don’t go,” he whispered.

“You know I have to,” she whispered back, eyes closed.

“No, you don’t.  We could…” he stopped and remained there, unmoving, a look of focused attention on his face.

_ Ron? _

Her silent question answered, Hermione slid across the bed from underneath him.  She grabbed her wand from the nightstand and handed him his. Together they silently moved through the flat to the roof door.  Ron stood on the side where it would open. Hermione stood on the other side, ready with spells in case Ron missed.

For a moment, his brain registered what was happening.  He and Hermione moved as a fluid unit. He didn’t have to give her orders or argue with her over tactics.  She just naturally seemed to know and anticipate what he would do and what she should do as an extension.

How many auror pairs moved so jointly, even after years of training together?

Hermione was like his other half.

Distracted for long enough, Ron nodded toward the door.  Feet were making their way down the exterior stairs.

_ On the count of three… _

Hermione nodded to tell him she had received the message.

_ One _

__ __ _ Two _

__ __ _ Three! _

Ron through the door open only to get the surprise of his life.

“Charlie!” he stepped forward and embraced his brother, “what the hell are you doing here?  And at the crack of dawn no less!”

The two redheads walked into the lounge, totally oblivious to their surroundings.

“I’m investigating your dodgy behavior.  The fact that you are up at such an ungodly hour tells me something.”

“Oh, yeah, and what are some of your theories?”

“Well, that hot piece of ass Fred saw you with has to be involved somehow.”

With that, Hermione slammed the roof door to remind Ron of her presence and stepped forward.  “Oh, really? And what exactly does  _ my ass _ have to do with it?”

“Charlie, this is…” in his shock over the slammed door and having Hermione in the same room as yet another of his brothers, he had forgotten the alias she had given Fred.

Hermione looked at his gaping expression and took pity on him.  She walked forward and extended her hand towards Charlie.

“Hermione, hi.”

“Hermione.  Pleasure,” Charlie shook her hand congenially  while shooting Ron an odd look.

Conveniently, further uneasy conversation was suspended by Harry choosing that moment to emerge from his room.

“What’s all the noise?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“What in the hell is going on here, Ron, are you running some sort of halfway house?”  Charlie looked at his baby brother incredulously.

“It’s all very interesting,” Hermione said, “Ron will fill you in.”  She turned toward the door to his bedroom. 

“Wait a minute,” Ron asked, “where do you think you’re going?”

“Back to the Manor, as per our plan,” she replied tartly, “Harry, luv, keep working on your spells.  Ron and Ginny will help you. I’ll see you in a few days.” By this point she was inside his room.

“Wait a minute; you’re going to leave now?” Ron had followed her into the bedroom.

“It’s long drive to Devon.  I don’t want it to take me all day,” she threw the last of her things into her bag and pointed her wand at her torso, magiking on some clothing, “besides you are going to have a lot of explaining to do that I don’t need to be here for.”

“Oh, brilliant, leave me to do all the dirty work.”

“Hey, I am the one who has to go deal with the Malfoys.  Would you care to switch?”

“Actually, yeah, I would.  It would give me the opportunity to tie up a few loose ends,” he retorted.  That gave Hermione a chill. She knew exactly what Ron would do if let loose in the Manor.  While she had no love for Lucius, Draco and Narcissa had never been anything but kind to her.

“Hmm…” she pretended to consider it, “I think not.”

“I’ll state again that I don’t like this.”  She walked over to him to hug him one last time before she left.

“I know; I’ll be back as soon as I can.”  She looked him in the eye for a solid minute, trying to memorize everything, just in case.  He kissed her soundly once more. Without saying anything more, she left through the front door, got in her car, and drove away.

****

TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLT

****

“I’m home!” Hermione called later that afternoon as she threw the doors to the Manor’s grand hall open.  She did this every time she arrived, knowing how much it irked the master of the house. Lucius hated having his tranquility shattered in such a jarring manner.

As usual, she wasn’t met with any response.  She walked toward the afternoon parlor, the most likely place to find people at this time of day.  Entering the room, she wasn’t surprised to see Pansy sitting there, sipping coffee while flipping through a magazine.

“Hey, Pans, what’s up?”  Hermione stepped forward, threw her bags on one chair and plopped down in another.

“My, aren’t we in a chipper mood?” Pansy commented dryly, not looking up.

“Who wouldn’t be chipper after a month in Paris?” Hermione gave her eyes a glassy, star-struck appearance, “where is everyone?”

“Who, exactly, are you looking for?” asked a voice from the doorway.

“Draco,” Hermione turned to look at him.   _ And the show begins… _

“How was your trip?” he asked, smiling as he, too, entered the room.

“It was wonderful.  I spent every moment I could in the museums.  I saw  _ Swan Lake _ 4 times.  I love Paris.  I’ve been thinking of moving there after the war is over.”

“Well, if you wish it, we will just have to make it so,” he smiled indulgently as he approached her chair, “Pansy, don’t you have somewhere to be?”

The look of nausea on the other woman’s face now turned to one of utter shock and anger.  “Oh, is that the time?” she said, making a big show of looking at her watch, “I am supposed to be at the boutique for another wedding gown fitting.  Hermione, you have your maid of honor dress, right?”

“It’s all set,” Hermione replied, forcing a smile to match Pansy’s over-bright one.

“Good, well, if you’ll excuse me,” she rose stiffly and marched to the door.  Only Hermione and the Malfoys had the ability to apparate out of the Manor, and even they had to enter using the front door.  Everyone else had to humble themselves by coming and going like Muggles, at least until they were at the gate.

“Did you have to be so downright rude to her?” Hermione asked, after Pansy had left and Draco had made himself comfortable, lounging in one of the chairs with a glass of scotch in his hand.

“She had an appointment.  I was being helpful,” he replied.

“Oh, yes, I can see how helpful you were.”

“It’s not my fault she likes to play chatelaine here.  It’s not her place, and somebody should remind her.”

“I certainly don’t hope you mean me.”

“Well, you’re the woman in charge when Mother isn’t here.  You should protect what’s yours.” His comments and Hermione’s memories of what he expected of her gave her a shudder.  Being lady of the Manor was  _ not _ her destiny.

“I never asked for that position and she clearly wants it.  She’s head over heels in love with you, Draco. Why don’t you do the girl a favor and marry her?”

“Because I don’t want to,” he replied petulantly, like the spoiled child he still was in so many ways, “besides, there are other plans for her.  The Dark Lord wanted a union between her and Nott. Why should I get in the way? And for what? I’m already getting for free what he’ll be paying for in a few short months.”

“Yeah, but that tail-well will dry up after they’re married,” Hermione shot back.

He emitted a deep chuckle, eyeing her predatorily over the rim of his glass.  “I forget, sometimes, how naïve you are.”

“So you intend to keep shagging her even after she’s ‘Mrs. Theodore Nott?’”

“Of course.  She expects the same thing.”

“Won’t Theo have something to say about it?”

“Who cares?  And when did you turn into such a Girl Guide?”

“Why, this is ironic,” Hermione looked down her nose at him, having learned “haughty” from the best, “you’re amused by my naiveté but are apparently shocked by it in the next sentence?  I just thought that even you hedonistic maniacs would have some standards.”

“I do have standards,” he said, embarrassed.

“Obviously not enough to be against adultery.”

He slammed the glass down.  “I would be against adultery, in my own marriage.  But it isn’t my fault if some other bloke can’t control his wife.”

“So you would expect your wife to be faithful but she shouldn’t expect the same from you?”

“I wouldn’t cheat on my wife,” Draco said tartly, “I would value her more than that.”

His cold eyes bored into her.  Hermione stared back at him, daring him to notice the cold sweat that was running down her back.

****

TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLT

****

That night found Hermione back at Heston.  The whole crowd had turned out for her “homecoming.”  From her position directly beside Draco, she watched as the next king of the dark army held court.  Everyone pushed closely around, vying for position. The closer you were, the more pull you had. To make matters worse, whenever Draco leaned back against the sofa, somehow his possessive arm found its way around her shoulders.  It was becoming overbearing and suffocating. Luckily, neither Marcus nor Viktor were there tonight, probably having been scared off, hearing that Draco would be making another appearance.

The Pale Prince was, at the moment, snorting lines of Sprez with Justin Finch-Fletchley.  She needed to get away from him now, before the drug made him overzealously affectionate and even more in her personal space.  Daphne was already hanging all over Justin, the drug having worked its way through her system and making her desperate for contact.  Pansy sat on Draco’s other side, completely miserable. The shots of blood vodka she kept doing obviously not improving the situation.  Hermione stood and stepped past Draco to sit on Pansy’s other side. She wrapped her hand around the bottle and moved it out of the other woman’s reach.

“Pansy, sweetie, you look so sad, what’s the matter?” Hermione patted her hair.

“You know very well what the matter is!” Pansy whined, starting to tear up.  Hermione bit her lip. She honestly did like Pansy; it wasn’t her fault how their cards were dealt.  She tried to diffuse the situation before things took a turn toward the disturbing.

“I’m sorry.  But look on the bright side, you look fabulous.  So thin!”

“Really?  Like anorexic thin or bulimic thin?”

“Bulimic, definitely.”

“Thanks,” Pansy, apparently forgetting that she had been heartbroken a moment before, turned glassy eyes toward Hermione and leaned toward her, “you know, you look awful cute too.”

_ Oh Christ, not this again _ .  The rumor around Hogwarts was that Slytherin girls were only good for one thing, and that was a shag.  And apparently, word was that they were so hungry for affection that they would shag anyone and anything, including each other.  Hermione learned this the hard way after having been cornered in the showers one night by Millicent Bulstrode. Only quick thinking, a small hex, and a memory charm had gotten her out of that situation.  Afterwards, Hermione had tried to limit the people from her own house that she was alone with. Her original thinking was that only Pansy, Blaise, and Draco were safe. Nearly ten years and several uncomfortable situations left only Blaise.

“Thanks, luv.  It means a lot to hear you say that, since you have such good taste.”  Hermione would have to do some quick maneuvering to get herself out of this debacle.  Apparently, she hadn’t gotten the bottle away from Pansy soon enough.

“I know someone else who probably tastes really good,” she licked her lips and continued to more toward Hermione, who placed the heel of her palm against Pansy’s forehead and pushed her away.

“Honey, we’ve had this conversation before,” Hermione tried to keep her irritation in check, “You know I’m not into that.”

“But this way we can share him and still have a good time.”   _ Share him.  So Draco wasn’t keeping his mouth closed while his britches were off, was he? _

“I don’t want to share him, pet, you are welcome to him,” Hermione whispered in her ear conspiratorially, turning sly eyes in Draco’s direction, hoping that Pansy’s glassy ones would follow, “in fact, he looks like he would be interested in  _ getting to know you _ right now.”

Draco was, in fact, watching the two girls with riveted interest.  He wondered if this would be the night that Pansy would finally talk his brown-eyed favorite into the three-way he had been dreaming about since, oh…well,  _ forever _ .  As scene unfolded, he saw Hermione move back and look at him with some expression on her face that he couldn’t read.   _ That couldn’t be loathing, could it? _  Instead of crawling over to him and suggesting that the three of them leave and return to the Manor, he saw Hermione gently turn Pansy and basically hurl the poor drunk girl in his direction.

_ Ahh well, better her than nothing. _

From his observation platform, Blaise had witnessed the entire interaction between his former classmates.  Determining that Hermione had suffered enough, he went down to the floor to rescue his partner in crime.

“Care to dance, Hermione?” he whispered silkily, seeming to have materialized out of nowhere behind her.

“Yes, please,” she replied, placing a hand in his and eyeing his gratefully.

“Oi! Where do you think you’re going?” Draco asked angrily as Pansy slithered into his lap.

“To have a dance.”

“What do you want to dance with that poof for?” he continued irritably, not liking the fact that she would be out of eyesight.

“Because he’s _so_ _good_ at it,” Hermione made sure to put as much emphasis as possible into her reasoning, to give anyone observing reason to doubt Blaise’s orientation.

Having finally made it safely away from Draco and his followers, Hermione put her arms around Blaise’s neck and they began to sway together.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay you for this night’s work,” she sighed.

“Well, I couldn’t very well leave you down there with the deviants, now could I?” he chuckled, “but tonight’s work isn’t over yet for me.”

“You’ve heard something.”

“He’s moved from Whitby.”

“To where?”

“Where else?  Hogwarts.”

****

TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLT

****

She was gone for three days.   _ Three bloody days! _  As the hours clicked by, Ron’s mood grew increasingly worse.  Thankfully, Ginny was once more on her “off” schedule, therefore having plenty of time to spend at Ron’s flat, continuing Harry’s magical and physical training.

He was in quite a state.  Ginny hoped that he wouldn’t do anything…rash.

At 3pm on the afternoon of the third day, Hermione apparated to the roof and made her way downstairs.  When she opened the door, she saw Harry and Ginny working quietly on something in the lounge. She crept up to them silently.

“Hi, everybody!” she cried, thoroughly enjoying their shocked faces.

“Holy Morgana, Hermione!” Ginny breathed, hand over her heart to still its frantic beating, “you could have gotten yourself killed.”

“Sure I could have.  It’s nice to know that you all really have your guard up.”  Anything more she was going to say was cut off as Harry wrapped his arms around her and gave her a bone crushing hug.

“I missed you,” he said to her hair.

“I missed you to, darling,” she wheezed, patting his back.

“Where’s Ron?” she asked after being released.  At that exact moment, Ron threw open the door to his bedroom, crashing it into the wall.

“He was trying to take a nap until someone started yelling the house down.”

“Oh for goodness sake, Ron, I wasn’t that loud.” 

Ginny inched up beside Hermione.  “He’s been in a right state since you left.  I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s baiting you.”

“Sod off, Ginny,” Ron said, just as surly as ever.

“Do you have something that you’d like to say to me, Ronald?” Hermione asked, arms crossed over her chest, her combat pose.

“I could think of a few things, yeah.”

“Maybe we should take this outside then.”

Without hesitating to see if he would follow her, Hermione walked back out to the roof.

“What  _ is _ your problem?” she attacked as soon as he was out the door.

“My problem?  You’re the one who was gone for three days.  Three bloody days, without so much as a note to tell us that you were okay.”

“Oh, because sending an owl to Ron Weasley, super Auror, from Malfoy Manor wouldn’t have been suspicious at all.  Use your head, Ron!”

“I was worried about you,” he said.

“I appreciate that.”

“Why were you gone for so long?  Three days is much longer than it takes to change clothes.”

“Things are brewing, I had some things to check out.”

“Why didn’t you come home in between?”   _ Come home, he had said. _  Hermione shook her head quickly to focus.   _ Was  _ **_this_ ** _ her home? _

“Because my comings and goings were monitored.”

“Then how is it that you are able to be here now?”

“Technically, I’m on assignment.

“What assignment?”

“I’m supposed to be heading up to Azkaban, figuring out a way of breaking in and getting inmates out.”

“Are there death eaters in Scotland waiting for you?”

“Yes, but that can wait.  We need to move  _ now _ .”

“What’s happened?” he gently took her arm and moved her to sit at the table near the roof garden.

“Voldemort’s moved.  He’s left his lair and is heading out to Hogwarts.”

“Hogwarts!?!?  Shite, we’re going to need all hands for this.”

“Maybe to get the students out, yes, but Harry is the one who will have to face him.”

“Right.”

“You’ll have to be in charge of the assault on the school.”

“Where are you going to be?”

“I need to go to Whitby and take care of the horcruxes.”

“They’re still there?”

“Yes, I saw them myself this morning.”

“Ok, when do you want to leave?”

“How soon can the Order be ready?”

“What Order?” he asked, straight-faced, not betraying his shock.   _ Was there anything she  _ **_didn’t_ ** _ know? _

“The Order of the Phoenix, you great oaf.  You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“How do you know about them?”

“For a secret organization, you lot do a great many sloppy things.  You need more Slytherin. We know how to keep secrets and move about undetected.”

“Wonderful.  Look, we WILL be having a discussion about you and the Order and how you came to know about it, but there isn’t exactly time right now.”

“I know.”

“Yeah…you know everything,” he paused here and sent Ginny a silent message to alert his family and the rest of the Order members to meet at headquarters.

They sat in silence for a few moments, just breathing.

“I missed you while you were gone,” he began.

“You can’t imagine how much I missed you,” she responded, not able to look at him, “every thought I had was about getting away.”

“It must have been nice, though, being back in the lap of luxury.”

“I like it here.”

“Why did you tell Charlie your real name?”

“I got tired of lying.  What difference does it make?”

“It’s going to make a heap of difference when we get to headquarters where Fred, and George, and Percy will be.  Some of those brothers actually went to school with you, remember.”

“So?  You’ll be there to protect me.”

He scoffed at that.

“Well, fine then.  Ginny and Harry will be there.  They can vouch for me.”

“Yeah, a mental patient and my sister, whose brothers have never really taken anything that she’s said seriously.  Great champions.”

“So you’re just going to drop me?”

“I didn’t say that.  I’m just saying that it’ll be tough.”

“ _ Life _ is  _ tough _ .  I would have thought that you would have realized that by now.”

“So it is.”

A few moments went by as they just sat beside each other, staring out over the other rooftops.

“So how’s  _ Draco _ ?” Ron asked, apparently off topic.  She turned her head to look at him.

“He’s fine, I guess.”

“No ring, I see.”  Now she turned her whole upper body to face him.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I know what he expects from you,” Ron finally looked at her, “you showed me the conversation you overheard.”

“That doesn’t explain why you would make such a ridiculous statement.”

“It’s not ridiculous.  The end is in sight, apparently.  Why shouldn’t he be moving forward?  Thinking about the future?”

“And I am supposed to, what, just blindly fall in line?”

“If you want to keep up your  _ cover _ .”

“You think I don’t have tons of experience putting him off?”

“It certainly doesn’t seem that way from my end.”

Hermione mulled this over silently with growing discomfort.

“Did you sleep with him?” Ron asked casually, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.  Hermione sprung up from her seat and stared at him in disbelief.

“WHAT?!?!”

“It’s a simple question.  Did you sleep with him?”

“How can you even ask me that?  You know what my past was like.”  She would NOT cry, she would not allow him to make her cry.

“It’s understandable enough.  He wants you, you want to distract him.  It’s the oldest trick in the book.”

“So I’m supposed to just jump in the sack with him, even after everything that’s happened between us?”

“Well, it worked to distract me.”  That stopped her cold.

“You think that my…that  _ us _ …you think that was all to distract you?”  Her tone made Ron’s chest ache.

“I don’t know,” he finally answered, quietly, not able to look her in the face.  Hermione forced down a sob.

“Even after all this time, and everything that I’ve done, you still don’t trust me.”

“That’s not what this is about…”

“Deny it then,” she interrupted, “tell me you trust me.”

He couldn’t say anything.  He didn’t trust her, not a hundred percent, at least.  He wasn’t about to lie about it.

“Do you feel anything for me at all?” she asked, in a small, heartbroken voice.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”   _ What the hell was he supposed to say? _

“So having feelings for me is ridiculous?” she stepped back from him but continued before Ron could argue, “look, let’s just put this behind us and get through today, all right?”  She turned from him and headed for the stairs.

“I have to get Harry ready.”

_ Blaise was right. _  He heard that solitary thought before she disappeared from sight.

“What was he right about?” Ron asked himself, with only the wind to answer him.


	14. Where Were You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare thyselves for a fight scene. I've adjusted warnings, just in case.

Hermione pressed the muscles of her back up against the wall.  Who would ever want to live in this place? The whole house seemed coated in dirt and dust.  What little light available was swallowed immediately by the gloom.

_ 12 Grimmauld Place was certainly uplifting, wasn’t it? _

She knew that the house had been the estate of the Black family, kin to the Malfoys.  But the residences of the two families couldn’t be more different. She tried to envision Narcissa even visiting a house like this.  The poor woman would probably have a stroke immediately upon entering the front door.

They had arrived about a half an hour before.  It was quite a sight for Hermione and Harry as they watched the unsuspecting Muggle homes on either side slide apart to reveal the house.  She followed the other three in slowly, knowing that welcome would not be awaiting her inside.

She hadn’t really seen anyone so far.  She had done what she normally did and stuck to the corners and shadows, observing, but hopefully unobserved.  Ginny had to drag her downstairs to the basement kitchen, where members of the Order had mustered to receive their orders.

It was Ginny who told her that she would be the one addressing those assembled.  Mad-Eyed Moody, who had taken over as de facto leader after Dumbledore’s death, had ordered it.  He wanted intel, and he wanted it now. Hermione was the one who held the most information and had even formulated a rough strategy.

Ron had ignored her the entire time they had been at Headquarters.  He had made sure to stay as far away from her as he could get.

_ Good _ , she thought,  _ better for me _ . 

But she couldn’t deny that his distance hurt,  _ bad _ .

She was supposed to go into the kitchen in a few minutes and tell them everything she knew.  Well, maybe not  _ everything _ , but close enough.  The story of Daniel and the Lion’s Den had never before been so real to her.

“Hey, are you ready?”

Her morose thoughts were interrupted as Ginny stuck her head through the open doorway.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Hermione replied, pushing off from the wall and squaring her shoulders.  She took a deep breath, and walked in.

The kitchen was crowded, but a space had been made for her at the head of the table.  She looked around at the group quickly before speaking, cataloging those she recognized from school and beyond.  So many Gryffindors…so many redheads. Ginny, Harry, and Charlie gave her smiles, which made her feel better. She refused to look at Ron.

“I’ll pretend as though none of you know me and just start at the beginning.  I must remind you, though, that time is short, so we must hurry. My name is Hermione Granger, I was born a Muggle, but attended Hogwarts as a member of Slytherin House from 1991 to 1998.  Upon graduation, I was recruited into the Dark Army and have since been in weapons development. For my own safety, I have also been researching ways to destroy Voldemort,” she stopped there briefly to take a breath, and to allow those who had cringed at his name time to collect themselves.

“As many of you know, in 1981 a prophecy was recorded that specifically mentioned the fall of this dark wizard.  By putting the pieces together and following the clues, I have deduced that Harry Potter is the only person on the face of the Earth that can destroy Voldemort.  He was released from the hospital 3 weeks ago, and since then, I have been working with him daily on both physical training and magical education. He has developed quickly, and has shown himself to be a strong and powerful wizard.

“I would have liked to have more time to work with Harry, but unfortunately, time has run out.  I was told two days ago that the Dark Army is massing forces. Their target is Hogwarts. Voldemort will be with them.  The day has come for the Order of the Phoenix to act.

“This mission has one objective: to kill Voldemort.  I have devised a three part plan to accomplish this goal.  One, the greatest number of available agents must go to Hogwarts to protect the students and take out as many soldiers in the Dark Army as possible.  Two, Harry must be taken as close as he can to Voldemort in order to kill him. In the meantime, I will go to Voldemort’s lair in Whitby and destroy the remaining horcruxes.  For those of you who don’t know, a horcrux is an object in which the Dark Lord keeps bits of his soul to guarantee immortality.

“Questions?” she said this last bit practically as a joke, as she knew that she would be inundated before too long.  She was rather surprised that she had been able to make it this far without interruption.

“How large is the Dark Army at present?” asked a redheaded man, obviously a Weasley, older than Charlie, but not old enough to be the patriarch.

“At last count it was close to 2,000 witches, wizards, trolls, werewolves, and giants.  He also has a contingent of dementors and has been known to associate with vampires, but neither of these groups have been particularly dependable when it comes time to launch a campaign.”

“Two thousand?!?!”

“We’ve never taken on a force of that size.”

“We are only 60 people…”

“Look,” Hermione stated sharply, when the whining became thunderous, “No one is expecting you to make a frontal assault.  A group of this size is most effective in guerilla warfare. It would be best if you could get to Hogwarts and take up position inside the castle.  It’s a  _ castle _ , for Christ’s sake!  Those buildings were built with defense in mind.  A few strategically placed agents could take out any number of enemies.”

“But you said that Voldemort will be there, he’s a powerful wizard, and will be adding his magic to the fray.”

“Voldemort isn’t going to be leading the charge.  That’s what he has underlings for. He’s expecting them to do his dirty work and then he was walk in with no resistance and take the place over.  He won’t be expecting this.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, gee, I don’t know, because he thinks you all are weak and stupid?  He’ll expect that you will all go nobly marching into battle, wasting your lives by meeting death head on, like some ridiculous hero out of a storybook.  He won’t be expecting someone who thinks like him to be giving you ideas about what to do.”

****

“That brings up a good question,” said a man that Hermione vaguely recognized as a Gryffindor from her year, “why are you here, advising us on how to go about this?”

“To save my own ass,” Hermione replied baldly, the tension beginning to get to her.

“Why should we trust you?” said someone else from the back.

At this question, Hermione looked squarely at Ron.  He met her gaze. She didn’t turn from him as she said, “you shouldn’t.”

“She’s not lying,” Mad-Eyed said from his seat at the side of table, “she believes the information she has and that she’s given us to be accurate.”

“Why should we run out and get all worked up over something some Deatheater says?”

“Well, fine then, wait for the casualty lists to roll in,” Hermione stated, getting more aggravated by the minute.

“I believe her,” said Moody.

“So do I,” agreed McGonagall, “this could be our chance to end this, once and for all.”

One by one, the Old Guard of the Order stated their opinions, all agreeing with Hermione’s view and plan.  Eventually, some of the members of her age began to reply.

“This might actually work,” said Neville.

“I’m in.”

“Me too.”

Hermione just stood there, amazed that they were actually believing her.  Neville was right, this might actually work.

She couldn’t help but notice, though, that Ron hadn’t said a word.

TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTL

Ron pressed his fingertips into his temples for what had to be the millionth time, praying that his massive headache would dissipate.  After the “meeting” with Hermione, he had retreated to the room that he had used as a bedroom whenever the Weasleys had been stationed at Headquarters.  He was hoping that the quiet would help him relax.

It wasn’t working.

“Ok, little brother,” someone began, Charlie maybe? “you’ve got some explaining to do.  Why are you dating a Deatheater?”

“Who said he was dating her?”

“Hey, wait a minute, that’s not the girl who I saw him with two weeks ago.  What happened to that Diana bird?” That had to be Fred.

“Why don’t all of you relax?” this came from Neville.   _ When did he enter the room? _

“Neville, this is kind of a family thing, so if you don’t mind…”

“Oh fuck you, Bill!  That was uncalled for.  I roomed with Ron for  _ six _ years; how many of you can say the same thing?  And I’ve known about this whole insanity from the beginning.  He hasn’t included any of  _ you _ , now has he?”

“He’s right, Bill.  That was kind of a shitty thing to say…”

“Shut it, all of you,” Ron couldn’t take it anymore.  His head was about to crack open. He opened his eyes to see all of his brothers, and Neville, staring down at him.  “I don’t have any explaining to do. She has a plan to kill the snakey bastard, end of story.”

“Why is she living in your flat?”

“So I can keep an eye on her.”

“Oh, you’re doing more than ‘keeping an eye on her.’”

“What the hell happened to your girlfriend?”

“She  _ is _ my girlfriend,” Ron snapped without thinking.

“And now we’re getting somewhere.”

“But she’s not the girl I saw you with,” Fred repeated.

“Yes, she was; she was just glamoured for obvious reasons.  Hermione Granger can’t just walk down Diagon Alley without drawing a lot of suspicion.”

“Glamoured…” Percy muttered in awe.

“Oh yeah, she’s right powerful,” Neville commented, “you should have seen her at school.”

“Ron, why are you dating a Deatheater?” Bill asked, in his condescending older brother way.

“She’s not a Deatheater.  At least, she isn’t on the front lines.  Look, at this point it doesn’t matter. She’s here, she’s given us a plan, let’s just get on with it and finish this for Merlin’s sake.  Because personally, I can’t take much more of this.”

“What’s the matter?” Neville asked quietly, sitting next to Ron while the brothers Weasley went back to discussing the situation amongst themselves.

“She’s blocking me,” Ron replied, turning tired eyes toward his friend.

“So?  If she can handle waking Harry up and throwing glamours, occlumency must be a walk in the park.”

“She never has before.  In fact, she’s made it a point to be as open as possible.”

“She does seem a bit frayed,” Neville nodded in agreement.

“What happened?” he continued, throwing a pitying look at his redheaded friend.

“I think we had a fight.”

“What?”

“Yeah.  I think it was pretty bad.”

“You don’t know?”

“Well, not really.  Whenever I fought with Lavender, there were always tears and big dramatic scenes.  Whenever I had little verbal sparring matches with Hermione previously, they were usually just heated and then over.  But this…this was different. She just completely switched off, turning into ice.”

“What happened?”

Ron was silent for a few moments.  “I asked her if she slept with Malfoy.”

“I take it that didn’t go over well.”

“It didn’t.  Then she asked me flat out if I trusted her or not.”

“And you said you didn’t.”

“I didn’t want to lie.  And she keeps saying how I shouldn’t trust her, blah, blah, blah…”

“Women are funny like that,” Neville chuckled a bit, “and now she’s blocking you.”

“Yeah.”

They sat in silence for another few seconds.

“She does seem off her game a bit,” Neville began.

“Well, the timing for this implosion could have been better.  She needs to get it together,” Ron massaged his temples again.

“Maybe you should talk to her.”

“Can’t; now’s not the time.  We’ve got work to do.” He stood to leave.

“Whatever you say, mate.” Neville followed him.

TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTL

Hermione flicked some sweat off her brow with her wand hand and turned her left wrist to peer at her watch.  She had already been there for 45 minutes and still had another two horcruxes to go.

This was taking too fucking long.

“How’s it going in here?” George Weasley asked, peeking his head into the vault. 

“Very nearly done,” she replied.

“Need any help?”

“Yeah, actually, now would be a good time.  Would you please get the Hufflepuff cup out of that drawer in the back?”

“Sure.” He moved past her, walking further into the vault.

The Order had insisted on sending a small cadre of operatives with her to Whitby.  Hermione didn’t mind; in fact, she was glad to have some eyes watching her back so that she would be free to do her work.  Destroying horcruxes wasn’t an easy thing.

She didn’t even resent the fact that the real reason the agents were with her was because those in high places didn’t trust the fact that this wasn’t all a set up.

_ Well, at least someone in the organization had a brain. _

Another thirty minutes had gone by and Hermione was left with only one object: her locket.

She hadn’t given any real thought to having to destroy something that had been like an appendage for more than half her life.  She removed it from her neck and held it in her hand. Already she felt naked, usually never having it off unless she was showering.  A sense of loneliness and loss overtook her.

Her grandmother had given her this.  It was her legacy. It had been her grandfather’s.

But her grandfather was Voldemort.

Ugh!

How could her grandmother have ever loved such a man?

“He’ll buy you a new one.” 

The noise startled her.

“What?”

“He’ll buy you a new one,” George repeated.

“Who’ll buy me a new what?”

“Ron will buy you a new necklace.”

“Somehow I doubt that very much.”

“Well, fine, then,” George genially plopped down beside her, “after all you’ve done to help us, if the great git wants to sulk about it, I’ll buy you a new locket.  I’ll even put my picture inside so you can open it and think of me.” He batted his eyes at her and the ridiculous action forced to laugh.

“Oh, well, no worries then,” she couldn’t help but reply.

Oddly, destroying the locket was easier than the others.  Perhaps she was just more in practice at that point, or maybe she had more emotional energy attached to her motives about this object; she didn’t know, nor did she care.  Only five minutes later, she was done and sending the Order members off to Hogwarts.

“You sure you’re going to be ok here by yourself?” George asked as he turned toward the portkey Hermione had created.

“I’m right behind you.  I just need to set some charges and blow the rest of this place sky high.”

“You’d better be.”

“Hey, who’s better than me at causing mayhem and destruction?”  She was actually starting to like George.

“What a bloody shame you were sorted into Slytherin, Fred and I could have had a good old time turning you into our protégé.”

“Trust me, I wasn’t this much fun at school.” She smiled as she watched George’s body compress and disappear.

It took hardly any time at all to plant bombs throughout the lair and set their timers.  She had been cautious and given herself five minutes, just in case. Now all she had to do…

“What are you doing here?”

_ Shite _ …was figure out what to do about Draco.

“What are you doing here?” he repeated, staring at her with a look that she couldn’t place.  She almost wanted to say he looked heartbroken.

“I could ask you the same question,” she replied.

“You’re supposed to be at Azkaban.”

“Well, as you can see, I’m not.”

“Why?”

She walked toward him and grabbed his arm, then began trying to pull him out of the lair with her.  “There’s no time to explain right now.”

“Why?”

“Jesus, Draco, what are you, a broken record?  Come on, let’s go!” She continued to try to pull at him.

“Why are you blowing the place up?’

She remained silent, but kept eye contact.

“You’ve betrayed us.”

“I did what I was taught to do.”

“And what was that?”

“Save my own skin.”

Now he finally approached her.  He grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face him.

“What are you talking about?  You had everything you could have ever wanted, and as soon as the war was over you would have had even more.  Why would you throw all that away?”

“I never wanted to have to watch my back twenty-seven hours a day.  I never wanted to be a pawn, Draco. I just wanted to live a nice, normal life.”

“And you would have had one.”

“Not the way things were going.”

“Yes, I would have made sure of it.”

“You don’t have control over things like that.”

“Yes, yes, I would have.  We would have been happy. We could even have moved to Paris, like you wanted.”

“How would we have been happy?”

“With our nice, normal life: a little house, a dog maybe, some kids…” he looked scared and lost.

“Draco,” she took a steadying breath and couldn’t help the tears that fell from her eyes,  _ this was it _ , “I don’t want those things…”

“Yes, you do, everyone does…” she put her hand over his mouth to stop him from interrupting again.

“Draco, I don’t want those things…with you.”  There, she had said it.  _ Why didn’t she feel any better?  _  He was starting to hyperventilate.

“What?” his voice was low now, cold.

“I love you so much,” she continued, “but as a brother and a friend, not as a lover.”

“No,” he ground out between clenched teeth.

“Please, we need to leave.  The bombs will be going off soon.”  She reached down to take his hand but he pulled it from her.

“No.”  She turned away from him then.

“Fine, stay here and incinerate.”

Turning her back on him was a mistake.  The next thing Hermione knew, she was approached the far wall at a sickening pace.  Her body was thrown against it with a dull thud and she crumpled to the ground. She reached up to touch her lips and felt wet stickiness.

Brilliant, now she was bleeding.

“I thought you were above violence against women.  It’s petty and doesn’t become you,” she prodded, rolling on to her back and pushing herself off the ground.

“I didn’t want to have to hurt you…”

“Oh please, don’t cheapen this experience by lying,” she took her dueling position, “don’t worry, Draco, you are most definitely Lucius’ son.”

She had known him for a long time, lived with him for a long time.  In many ways, she thought of him as she had the locket, a part of her, an extension…family.  But all that time had yielded knowledge. And she knew exactly what buttons to push to put him in a ferocious rage.

Draco should have known better, but he always did let his emotions get the better of him.  He should have realized what she was trying to do. She couldn’t just kill him, she wasn’t cold-blooded enough for that.  But if they were fighting and something unfortunate happened to him, well she couldn’t help that, now could she?

He smirked at her, thinking he had the upper hand.  He was a man, after all, and a soldier. She was a lab rat.  What did she know of dueling? This would be over quickly. He would just hex her enough to make her unconscious, take her back to the Manor, and figure out what to do with her there.

What he didn’t realize was that Hermione was in the best shape of her life.  While he had slowly been becoming more and more decadent, Hermione had spent the last month supervising and participating in Harry’s physical and magical training.

_ Poor boy; he didn’t stand a chance. _

He started the fight, throwing weak curses at her which injured her pride instead of her body.   _ That was the best he could do? _

He became more creative as Hermione showed no mercy.  There were many things he couldn’t block or dodge, as they were new spells that she had been in the process of testing in the lab before she had left to liberate Harry.

Keeping an eye to the time, she allowed him to think that he was pushing her back, when in reality she was really maneuvering them toward the exit.

_ 90 seconds to go… _

She moved her head quickly to the side, barely missing a curse he threw at her.   _ About time he started really playing. _

Finally, she turned and ran, hoping he would follow her.  He did and kept throwing curses and hexes all the while. She had finally turned the last corner and could see the exit when something startled her into stopping.

“Hermione?” a voice called out.

She stopped to turn around and look for who was calling her.  Her movement gave Draco the opportunity he need to hit her with another hex which threw her into another wall with more force than last time.

She heard the crunch of her body making contact and the sound of her groan.  But then everything went dark, and she embraced the nothingness.


	15. Afterburn

_ Light was  _ **_evil_ ** _ …right to its core _ .

Hermione groaned as her eyelid was forced open and an intense light shined in it.  She knew people were speaking above her, but the sound was dulled, as though someone had shoved cotton in her ears.

Her other eyelid was pried open and the light was shined in again.  She whimpered and shook her head, wanting to force away the hand holding her lid in a death grip.  The head shaking was a bad idea.  _ Who knew there was a spell to put giant bells inside your head? _

Leaving her eyes closed now, but completely awake, she took stock of her situation.  The temperature in the room was comfortable, but the air smelled antiseptic, with something sinister underneath.  She moved her hands out, slowly, feeling the texture of fabric beneath her finger tips. She was lying on something very soft.  It must be a bed.

She did a physical test.  She moved her toes, then her ankles, flexed the muscles in her legs, continuing on until she got all the way up to her head.  There was pain everywhere, particularly when she took a deep breath and held it, but she could feel all of her extremities, that was the important thing.

So she was lying in a bed somewhere.  It had to be a hospital. Was it muggle or wizard?  Only one way to find out…

Slowly, Hermione opened her eyes, allowing them time to get used to the bright light of the room.  She breathed. The light wasn’t as painful this time. The room was a boring white color. Maybe she was dead.  Maybe she was in Heaven.

No, it shouldn’t hurt this much to be dead…

Her thoughts were interrupted when a head invaded her field of vision.  Backlit, she could hardly make out who it was.

“About time you woke up, lazy ass,” the voice teased.  It was a voice she knew.

“Ginny,” she croaked, dry, brittle lips cracking into a smile without her consent.  She felt the head of the bed rise, putting her into a reclining position, “what happened to your hair?”

“Oh that…” the red head chuckled, “perils of battle.”  Her hair, which the last time Hermione had seen her had reached her lower back, had been sheared off, cropped close to her skull.  It wasn’t a bad look for her.

There was more.  Upon closer inspection, Hermione noticed a healing bruise on her forehead.  Her wand hand was also wrapped in bandages, making her movements awkward.

“Looks like I missed all the fun,” Hermione said, blinking her eyes to try to moisten them.

“Oh, the way I hear it, you had plenty of your own fun.”

“Well, as we’re in a lovely brightly-lit room, and, you know,  _ alive _ , I can only assume we won,” Hermione remarked, not entirely sure she wanted the answer.

“Yup,” now Ginny was grinning like a mad fool, “I  _ told _ you so.”

“And did Harry…” Hermione began, being forced to stop when her voice broke.  This was a question that she really didn’t know if she wanted to know the answer to just yet.

“Did Harry what?” asked a deep voice from the other side of the room.

She shifted her eyes over to look in the direction of the new voice.  He stood and approached the bed. He was smiling at her and looked to be in one piece.  She felt her heart squeeze in her chest. Her face scrunched up and before she could help it, tears were cascading down her cheeks. 

Harry sat next to her on the bed, pulled her into his chest, and held her tight.

****

TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTL

****

“She’s awake,” was all he said.

****

Ron nearly jumped out of his skin, expecting to still be alone in the flat.  He had left his vigil at the hospital an hour before, just to run home, grab a snack and a shower, and go back.

****

But now she was awake.

And he had missed it.

_ Figured _ .

“How long?” Ron asked, picking his head over the back of the couch where Harry sat.  He had his shirt pulled on before Harry answered.

“About 30 minutes.  They kicked me out of the room once Gin alerted the other medi-wizards that she was awake.  I decided to come here and tell you the news.”

“Right…right,”  now fully clothed, Ron walked around the couch into the lounge and took a chair facing Harry, “so now what?”

“Well, that’s up to you, isn’t it?”

****

Ron stared at him dumbly.  “They want  _ me _ to make decisions about her care?”

****

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes.  “No, you dolt, you and Hermione, ‘now what’ is up to you…”

****

Ron made a face and started to cross his arms over his chest, winced, thought better of it, and gripped the chair armrests.  “That’s not what I was asking. I meant, ‘now what’ as far as medical treatment.”

“Sure you did,” Harry huffed and stared back at him, “they’ll keep her in the hospital for a while yet, I think.  She can hardly move. Whatever he was throwing at her was pretty potent stuff.”

“Yeah, having a cave partially collapse on you doesn’t help, either.”

“It could have been worse,” Harry retorted, “she could have been killed.”

“Yeah,” Ron replied, looking away.

“She has you to thank for that little bit of rescuing,” Harry continued smugly, shocked to see that Ron was so off his game he was blushing at the comment.

“If I had been doing my job properly, I would have gotten her out of there before the place detonated.”

Harry made a rude noise, “Please, if you had been doing your job properly, you never would have gone there.”

Ron didn’t have anything to say to that.

The two men sat silently for a few minutes, lost in their own thoughts.

“You should get back over there,” Harry started up again, “as soon as possible.”

“We don’t even know when the testing will be done.”

“Don’t give me that.  When she was in a coma we couldn’t get you out of there, now that she’s awake you’re too bloody scared to show your face.”

Ron didn’t say anything.   _ Since when was the mental patient so perceptive? _

“You should be scared, having fucked up as utterly as you did.”

_ Now that was just going too far… _

****

“Why don’t you just mind your own Goddamn business?” Ron bit out, eyes narrowed to slits.

“She  _ is _ my business.  She doesn’t have six siblings and a complete set of parents looking out for her like  _ some of us _ do.  I’m all she’s got.  I don’t know what exactly happened between the two of you before we went to Number 12, but I know that it hurt her, a lot, and she’s been in a right state ever since.  So either you fix it, or she and I should think about getting the hell out of England.”

“Why would you leave the country?” Ron asked, thrown off by Harry’s little speech.

“This place doesn’t have much for me, and, if you drag your feet, it has nothing but pain and suffering for her.  It would probably be best if she went someplace new, and I sure as hell am not letting her go by herself.”

****

“What about Ginny?” Ron asked, not without a few barbs of his own.

****

“We’ve already talked about it, and she understands the situation.  In light of what’s happened, she understands that Hermione has to be my top priority now.”

****

“Wow,” was all Ron could say.  There had been a lot going on.

****

“I know, she’s pretty amazing,” Harry replied.

****

“That she is,” but Ron wasn’t sure which woman they were talking about.

****

TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTL

****

“Lucius survived,  _ again _ ,” she said as Ron walked in the door of her hospital room, not even glancing up at him, “that man has an uncanny ability to land on his feet.  At least he’ll be doing time in Azkaban. Hopefully they’ll beef up security so that it will actually hold him this time.”

Hermione sighed in disgust and threw the copy of the Daily Prophet she had been reading to the floor.  She leaned back onto her bed and looked at Ron.

He just stood there for a minute, not knowing how to proceed.

“You don’t look surprised to see me,” he stuttered, feeling like a moron.

“I knew it was you coming down the hallway.”

“Oh, are you clairvoyant now as well?”  _ ugh, the lame jokes were not helping _ .

“No, I recognized your footfall pattern.”  She didn’t know what else to say and they fell into an awkward silence.

“It’s good to see you awake,” Ron began again, easing into the situation a little better this time.

“Thanks, it’s good to be awake.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Sore and tired.  Most of the dire wounds have healed.  Your sister tells me it will take some time to get all my strength back.  Using the kind of magic I did was very draining, apparently.”

“How long will you be in the hospital?”

“Dunno.  Right now this is the place where the Ministry feels most comfortable keeping me.  And I have no desire to take up residence with Lucius once more, only this time in prison.”

“Prison?” Ron didn’t like the sound of that.

“Well, I am an enemy agent, Ron,” she smiled weakly at him, “or at least I was.  I’m not sure what I am now.”

He looked away, uneasy.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t told them anything about you or your family’s involvement in my activities,” she said soothingly, seeing his brow crease.

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“You should be,” her tone had a bit more bite to it than she had originally intended.

“I was wondering how long you were going to be civil to me.”  He, apparently, noticed the slip. Hermione bit her lip and looked away.

“I don’t want to fight with you, I’m too tired,” she still wouldn’t look at him, “besides, what difference does it make?  It’s over.”

“ _ What’s _ over?” he prodded.

“Us, our  _ relationship _ , such as it was…” still averting her eyes.

“It’s over?”

“Yes.”

“Well, nobody told me.”

“I thought it was obvious.”

“Why would it be obvious?”

“Oh, will you stop it with the questions and the playing dumb?!  You said you couldn’t trust me. You can’t be with someone you don’t trust.”

“You’re almost right,” Ron began, rising from his seat to look out the window, “you asked me if I trusted you, but I never answered.”

“You didn’t have to, your face said everything.”

“That may be true.  I’m sorry that I lied to you.”

“What do you mean, you lied?”

“When I let you think that I didn’t trust you.  I did, I do, I was just scared to admit it.”

She fell silent again.  When she didn’t respond, he turned to face her.  She was pulling a loose string on her blanket. Tearing at it, practically.  Feeling braver, he walked over and sat on the foot of her bed.

“Do you really want it to be over?” he asked quietly.  Her eyes shot up.

“How can it not be?”

“We had a fight, Hermione,” he smiled at her and rubbed her ankle, “granted, it was a pretty bad one, but it was just an argument.  You and I argue all the time.”

“Couples argue about what to have for dinner, not about trust.”

“Couples argue about what to have for dinner AND about trust.  And a thousand other things, big and small. What, did you expect that everything would be sunshine and roses all of a sudden?” he shifted to rub her 

other ankle.

“I sure as hell didn’t expect it to be this hard.”

“It’s the ‘hard’ that makes it great.”  She looked at him again to meet his eyes.   _ She wouldn’t cry, damnit.  This place was turning her into a great blubbering watering pot. _

“So, there’s still an  _ us _ , then…?” she asked, feeling like a fool.

“If you want there to be.”

“Do you want there to be one?”

“Yes.”


	16. J'aime

3 months later…

Luckily, it was relatively easy to find her.  Hermione was a creature of habit, and Ron could practically set his watch by her behavior.  He closed the door of the café behind him and stomped his slushy boots on the mat. She didn’t look up, merely remained engrossed in her book, a cup of tea steaming just within reach.

_ Guess who… _ He sent her silently, causing her head to snap up and look toward the door.  She smiled that special smile she had, just for him, and rose from her chair as he made his way toward the table. 

“You’re early,” she whispered as she leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“I got bored waiting around,” he replied, squeezing her tightly.

“I’m glad you were able to find me.”

“I can  _ always _ find you.”

They settled into a semi-comfortable silence as Ron sat.  Hermione put her book away and Ron ordered a cup of tea from the vigilant waiter.  It had been three weeks since he had last seen her. Each time they met up again there was a strange lull in conversation, as each tried to figure out where to begin.

“You were in the paper again,” he said suddenly, desperate for any kind of topic.

Hermione nodded over her cup of tea.  “I guess the wizarding public at large in the UK isn’t satisfied with just the Ministry knowing my whereabouts.”

“I get more and more surprised by where the sightings are.  Wales? Honestly…” Ron rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Some people need to feel famous, even for just fifteen minutes.  So they’ll say they saw me or saw Harry, that I was snogging Nessie or something,  _ anything _ , to get some attention,” she looked at him closely, “why are you grimacing like that?”

“If this keeps up, you’ll never come home,” Ron complained.  Hermione sighed.

She had been in the hospital for a week, longer than she wanted by at least six days.  Afterwards, she was required to remain in England while the Ministry conducted hearings about Death Eater activities.  Was the War really over? Was Voldemort really dead? Day after endless day she had had to appear before the Wizengamot, answering the same questions, each time with less patience.  She hadn’t been charged with any crimes, her work away from the front line and her assistance to the Order saving her from punishment at Azkaban. She was, however, under probation, and the Ministry wanted to know her whereabouts at all times.  A part of her was ruffled by the infringement on her civil liberties, but she assumed it could have been worse. She would gladly give the Ministry a daily itinerary if it meant she could get out of having to go to prison or a death sentence.

The whole affair had taken another two weeks.  Two weeks in which she had not seen Harry, Ron, or any of the Weasleys.  This was by choice. She didn’t want their names tied to hers and dragged through the mud.

Two lonely weeks.

And then the Ministry decided that they had heard enough from her, and let her go.  She spent a short time trying to figure out what to do. Ron remained with a standing invitation to return to his flat to live, with Harry still in residence.  With Draco killed, Narcissa missing, and Lucius in prison, control over the Malfoy business interests had fallen to her, tidily taken care of since Draco had legally named her his heir during the War.  She didn’t need to work, and she could live wherever she liked.

She decided to leave England.  She hadn’t been lying when she told Pansy and Draco that she wanted to move to Paris after the fighting was over.  So she went across the Channel and began the exhausting task of finding a place to live. 

What she didn’t expect was that she wouldn’t be alone.

Harry had insisted on coming with her.  He, too, wanted to get away from Britain, he said.  So the two of them walked the streets, looking for a flat in an unassuming neighborhood.  They found one above a shop right off the Place de Vosges, near where Victor Hugo had lived. 

And that’s where she had remained, mostly, for the past two and a half months.

“This  _ is _ home,” Hermione said softly, not meeting his eye.

“Oh, don’t even start with that,” this was Ron’s least favorite topic.  He understood, at least, in theory, that Hermione needed to get away from things for a while; yes, maybe even get away from him.  But this was  _ not _ to be permanent.  He kept hoping that she would finish up her lease and come back to London, where he was, where  _ she _ belonged.

They normally evaded the topic since it just led to misery.

“If it bothers you so much, you could always move here,” she suggested, smiling slightly.  He sighed.

Ron didn’t  _ want _ to move to France.  He  _ wanted _ to stay in England.  That’s where his job was, that’s where his family was, that’s where his friends were.

“Is this some kind of test?” he asked, aggravation making him snappish.

“I don’t play games with you, you know that.”

“You’re sure you’re not waiting for me to give in and say, ‘ok, I’ll change my entire life around for you,’ at which point you’d say, ‘oh, my hero, that’s all you had to say, I’ll go back home with you now…?’”

“The falsetto was very entertaining.”

“Thank you, but you didn’t answer the question.”

“So I’m supposed to change  _ my _ whole life around for  _ you _ , but you wouldn’t do the same for me?”

“Moving back to London isn’t changing your whole life around.”

“Isn’t it?” she huffed, “This is where I live; this is where most of my stuff is…”

“No,  _ this _ is you on an extended vacation.  You don’t  _ live  _ here.”

“Ugh!” Hermione pushed back from the table in frustration, “Did you show up early just to pick a fight with me?”

“No, I showed up early because I miss you.  The fighting is just an added benefit.” Normally they didn’t argue when he came to visit.  They had so little time together they tended to focus only on the good things when he was there.  The argument was actually strangely comforting to Ron, as though it proved that they really were a couple.

“How was Christmas?” Hermione asked quietly, treading into yet another sore subject, but still wanting to know.

“Relatively dull, considering the War’s over and we all made it out alive.  Everyone was sad that you weren’t there.”

“I didn’t really feel comfortable being there.”

“Harry didn’t seem to have a problem with it.”

“ _ Harry _ isn’t me.  Did the gifts arrive?”

“Yes, they were much appreciated.  Although, I don’t know if such expensive things have ever graced the Burrow before.  You’re certainly on your way to making a good impression. Most of the other girlfriends didn’t remember that Charlie was bringing a bird home for the holiday.  Hell, Fleur couldn’t even remember the poor girl’s name, and she’s met her before.”

“I’m glad everyone enjoyed them.”

“I have yours in my bag.”

“No one had to get me anything.”

“Oh, shut it.”  Ron reached down to sip his tea.  It wasn’t bad, considering this was France, “it was Christmas, and not only are you my girlfriend, a girlfriend who thought enough to send presents to every single member of the rest of the family, but you almost single-handedly ended the War.  Of course everyone got you presents.”

“It wasn’t single-handedly,” Hermione continued to argue.

“You were the brains behind it, then,” he paused to take another sip of tea, “what did you do for Christmas?”

“Nothing special.  I went to Mass at the church round the corner.  It was nice. It made me nostalgic for my Muggle childhood.”

“That wouldn’t have taken all day.”

“No, it didn’t.  That was Christmas Eve, actually.  Some neighbors invited me over afterward for Buche de Noel and hot chocolate, so it was a pretty late night.  Christmas Day I just slept in, cooked way too much food, took a walk, and read some.”

“You should have come to the Burrow.”

“I liked the quiet.  It was nice, after everything.”

“You have any of that mysterious food left?”

“Yes, AND I even made dinner for you for tonight.”

“You’re kidding,” he returned her grin at the prospect of her cooking.

“Nope, those cooking classes Harry and I took really paid off.”

“What are we waiting for then?” he asked, gulping down the rest of his tea and standing.  Hermione followed suite and they left the café. The elaborate French dinner Hermione had prepared wasn’t done yet, so they took a walk around the park.  The light snow that had been falling all morning had let up and the temperature wasn’t dreadfully cold. It was actually quite a nice day.

As they lapped the trees surrounding the park, Hermione contemplated the simple act of holding hands with a loved one while walking.  It seemed like the most natural thing to do, so long as you didn’t think about it. Holding hands and walking around in public with Ron was safe here, in France.  Dozens of eyes weren’t peering at them, watching every move they made here.

“Don’t think like that,” Ron said.

“Why are you  _ reading  _ me?”

“Why are you  _ letting  _ me?”

She ignored his question and continued walking.  He squeezed her hand to get her attention back.

“It’ll be difficult, at first, but people will eventually find something much more interesting to gawk at before too long.”

“I don’t want to be gawked at at all.”

“Then you shouldn’t be so spectacular.” 

She stopped walking and turned to face him, smiling coyly.  “So this is what you’re resorting to now? Flattery?”

“Is it working?” he asked, stepping closer to her.

“I’m not ready to go back yet,” she whispered, leaning forward and resting her head on his chest.

“It doesn’t have to be today…or even tomorrow.  But if you could let me know if you could  _ ever _ stomach returning to England, I would appreciate it,” Ron replied, running his gloved hands up and down Hermione’s back as he held her close.

“Of course I can stomach it.  Eventually.”

“Then that’s all you need to say,” he said, kissing the top of her head as she hugged him tighter.


	17. Something Other Than Black

Hermione scraped her fork against the plate again, not caring how big of a pig it made her appear.  Mrs. Weasley really was an excellent cook.

****

_ Must be where Ron gets it from… _

****

The Burrow was full to bursting with all of Ron’s siblings, and their significant others, in residence for this 28th birthday.  The Weasleys never  _ needed  _ a reason to celebrate, and the first birthday after the War ended was a good enough excuse for everyone to drop whatever they were doing and come home.

****

The family was joined by Luna Longbottom, Seras Victoria’s full accompaniment of nappies and toys in tow, and a few members of the Order.  The partygoers were also entertaining some very unexpected, yet cherished guests.

****

While Harry and Hermione had been living in France, Harry had undertaken the task of trying to figure out what had become of his younger siblings.  The journey had been an arduous one, requiring a ton of legwork and thousands of Malfoy galleons to be paid to Ministry officials in bribes. Eventually, their research and hard work led them across “The Pond” to the United States where seventeen years ago the “Mooney” family had taken up residence in a small town in New Jersey.

****

“Not the most covert code name, I admit,” Remus Lupin confessed when he sat across his dining table  from harry and Hermione, “but I didn’t want it to be impossible to find us, just in case.”

****

Lupin hadn’t been there the night the Potters were attacked at Godric’s Hollow.  He had been minding his business and nursing a scotch and soda when his doorbell had unexpectedly rung about 11 pm on Halloween night.  Opening the door revealed Violet Parkinson and the two youngest Potter children, imperioed to follow her without asking any questions.

****

“They are innocent children,” Parkinson had said, thrusting them through the doorway towards Lupin, “and are no threat to the Dark Lord.  I couldn’t just leave them there…” She apparated away without another word. Lupin took the children in and put them to bed.

****

After learning what had become of his friends and their eldest son the following morning, Lupin decided to leave the country before the survival of Sami and Mark was discovered.

****

They had been living undetected in the suburbs of Union County ever since.  Until the day Harry had shown up at their door.

****

Same, at 24, was living in Brooklyn.  She was interning for UNICEF as she completed her courses for a Masters degree in Social Work.  Mark had three years to go at Drexel before he got his Business degree. Sami remembered Harry while Mark had only hazy recollections.  They were both trying to rebuild their relationship with their older brother, who, although he looked like them, couldn’t be more different.

****

One of the ways they got better acquainted was though contact.  Therefore, they had in-person visits every month, either Harry going to the States or Sami and Mark coming to London.  So it happened that they were able to be at Ron’s birthday celebration, dragging their adoptive father along for the ride.

****

The three Potter children, Lupin, and most of the other party guests were congregated in the lounge, cooing and laughing at anything Seras Victoria did.  Hermione remained in the kitchen, not quite comfortable enough to be in the thick of a throng of people who, just six months ago, would have been calling her “enemy” and hurling hexes her way.

****

She scraped the fork across her plate one last time for good measure.

****

“I think you’re down to the design at this point.”

****

“Very funny, George,” she muttered at the redhead propped up against the door jamb.  She stood to put her plate in the sink, turning her back to him so that he wouldn’t be able to see her blush.

****

_ Okay, so maybe she cared that she looked like a pig… _

****

__ _...a little. _

****

“I still can’t believe he talked you into moving back here,” George replied, moving forward to refill his teacup.  He topped hers up as well, forcing her to sit back at the table across from him.

****

“I didn’t plan on staying in Paris forever.  I just wanted to get away for awhile.”

****

“And now you’re back…”

****

“Well, I was having some difficulty dealing with the various Malfoy business interests while in a different country.  Besides, the offer the Ministry made me was intriguing.”

****

A few months after living in France, a Ministry agent had approached Hermione with a job proposal.  The idea was to make her an independent consultant to various departments that came into contact with Dark Objects or Majicks.  Thus far, she had done some fascinating work with the Department of Mysteries and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. While she didn’t need the salary to survive, she used her pay to fund various charities.  The War may have been over, but there were still Death Eaters and Dark Arts around; business was booming.

****

“He’s really happy you’re back,” George said quietly into his teacup.

****

“I know.”

****

“No, I don’t think you do,” George finally looked at her, “he’s trying to keep his cool so that he doesn’t scare you off, but he’s ecstatic.  He was such a mopey mess when you were gone. As though Paris were the ends of the Earth…”

****

“I think it was more the possibility of Paris being permanent that upset him.”

****

“I just wanted you to know that he really does appreciate you being back.  And Ron in a good mood makes it easier for all the rest of us to be in a good mood, so you have our thanks.”

****

“You’re very welcome,” Hermione replied with a quiet smile.  She really did like George; hell, she liked all the Weasleys.  It was strange to feel so accepted so easily.

****

The tranquility in the kitchen was broken when the object of her affection came stumbling through the doorway.

****

“There you are!  Come on, we’ve got to go,” Ron spewed, walking quickly over to Hermione and trying to drag her off the bench.

****

“Where are we going?” Hermione asked after getting her footing.

****

“Neville’s in the Floo; there’s been an attack at an inn in Hogsmeade.  There’s evidence of Dark Magic, so your expertise has been requested. We’re to meet a team of Aurors there,” Ron explained as Hermione followed him into the lounge.  The guests had parted and she could see Neville’s head floating in the green flames.

****

“Duty calls, then?” Harry asked as Hermione hurried past.

****

“Well, you know, no rest for the wicked.”  She watched the Burrow spin away from her as she followed Ron to the scene of the crime.

****

TLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLTLT

****

“So what are we looking at, Neville?” Hermione asked as Ron and Neville reached down to help her out of the hearth.

****

“A male and a female victim, probably in their mid to late thirties.  A cursory look makes it seem like a murder/suicide.”

****

“That seems pretty cut and dry, what am I doing here?”

****

“There’s evidence of A.K. and spells we can’t even figure out.  Plus, the only clothing we could find was a pair of long, black cloaks.”  That sent a shiver down her spine. 

****

“Have the bodies been removed?” Ron asked when Hermione looked a little squeamish.

****

“Yeah, EMWs were a here a few minutes ago; my team is debriefing them now.  The bodies will be moved to St. Mungo’s for autopsy.”

****

“Great,” hermione muttered as she followed Neville up the stairs to the room.  She had her wand out, scanning for traces of magic as they approached the door.  Neville opened the door and she stepped inside. The heat hit her like a slap in the face, causing her to look up and assess her surroundings.

****

There had to be a hundred candles lit, charmed to float throughout the room.  There was a table set up near the corner windows where some champagne was chiling; two flutes stood on the table on either side of a bouquet of orchids.  

****

She turned around to look at Ron just in time to see Neville wink at him and leave, closing the door behind him.

****

“What the hell is this?” she asked, already feeling a sense of discomfort that had nothing to do with the heat from the candles.

****

“This is me trying to be romantic.”

****

“Are you joking?”

****

“Wow, and it’s going  _ so  _ well, too…”  Ron groused as he moved past her to pour himself some champagne.

****

“I just don’t understand the deception.”

****

“I had to get you out of my parents’ house somehow without you suspecting something; and let me tell you, trying to do  _ anything  _ under your radar is a mean feat.  Champagne?” He held out a flute. Still eyeing him askance, she walked forward and took it.

****

“Are we celebrating something?  Other than your birthday, that is…”

****

“That remains to be seen,” he put his glass down and sat at the table.  She followed. “Do you miss France?”

****

“Yes, but it’s good to be home.”

****

“I’m glad to hear you call it that; ‘home.’”

****

“You were right.  Paris was me on an extended vacation.”

****

“It really must be my birthday.  You just said I was right about something.”

****

“It has been known to happen, Ronald... _ occassionally… _ ” the banter making her feel a bit more comfortable, she relaxed into her chair, “now how about you tell me why we’re here.”

****

“I want to ask you something.”

****

“Yes?” She leaned forward.

****

“Will you marry me?”

****

She just stared at him.

****

“ _ Pardon? _ ”

****

“It’s a pretty simple question.”

****

“How can you say that?”  Now Hermione leaned back in a huff. 

****

“It only has two possible answers, ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ thereby making it rather simple.”

****

She gaped at him.

****

“You know, conventionally, from what I’ve surmised, the man, or proposer, gets down on one knee and present a ring as a token of his esteem to the woman, or proposee,” she stalled.

****

“You’re an unconventional woman, Hermione Granger.”

****

“And you want to get  _ married _ ?”

****

“Obviously, but what’s important here is what  _ you  _ want.”

****

She appreciated the statement.  Honestly, though, she had never given marriage for herself much thought, except for how to avoid it with Draco as the groom.  

****

Did she have any issues with the concept of marriage?

****

_ No. _

****

Did she have any arguments with the concept of herself getting married, in general?

****

_ Not particularly. _

****

“Do you love me?” she verbalized while continuing her inner debate.

****

“Yes, for a long time; long before I realized it, anyhow…,” Ron replied without hesitation.

****

_ Well, that was something. _

****

“Do  _ you  _ love  _ me _ ?” he asked.

****

“Yes,” she forced herself to reply.

****

“Say it.”

****

“What?” she crossed her arms over her chest.

****

“I want to hear you say it.”  She looked affronted. “Come on, it’s my birthday…” he teased.

****

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

****

“I love you,” she said clearly.  It was amazing how she expected that confession to be painful, but it was the easiest thing in the world.  

****

“So...what do you think?  Will you marry me?” he asked again.

****

“But what about…?”

****

“No,” he interrupted, “we’ll figure out the details later.  I need an answer to the question first.”

****

Would she marry him?

****

Would she vow to love and honor this man for the rest of her life?

****

This man, with his dirty flat and too long nose, with his red hair and freckles, with his sense of humor, with his smile that made her melt.  This man who fought with her,  _ for  _ her.  This man who made mistakes, owned up to them, and tried again.   _ This man... _ who had shown her what love could be.

****

_ This man… _

Could she bind herself, body, soul, and magic, to  _ this  _ man?

****

“Yes.”


End file.
